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jungshookz · 3 years

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Halloween in CeeWorld

I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to post this.

These drabbles were in Cee’s drafts, so... if I wasn’t supposed to post this, blame it on Y/N.

Enjoy. Or not. It doesn’t really matter to me.

the little ghost (ceo!yoongiverse)

“alright, let’s get this quarantine hwalloween party started!” you clap your hands together as you step into the living room before rubbing them together excitedly, “is everyone excited??”

“as excited as i’ll ever be,” jungkook huffs as he leans back against the sofa chair, “i can’t believe we’re celebrating halloween indoors like a bunch of losers-”

“you’re very much welcome to leave-” yoongi butts in, “and then stay isolated in your own apartment for two weeks after you’re done partying as part of the safety protocol-”

“quick question- why does jungkook get to be the one with the goggles?” jimin gets up from the couch before putting his hands on his hips, “i look way hotter in them-”

you frown lightly before rolling your eyes, “does it matter who gets the goggles-”

“yeah! the goggles ties the entire costume together-”

you and yoongi exchange knowing glances when jungkook and jimin start to bicker over who should get the goggles and you know that if you don’t cut it off right now that they’ll continue to argue until the end of time

“where’s my little ghost?” you interrupt loudly, cupping both hands around your mouth as a makeshift megaphone, “oh, spooky little ghost...”

a moment of silence ticks by and suddenly-

the sound of rapidly approaching little footsteps echoes down the hallway and you grin excitedly, dropping down onto your knees before reaching up to adjust the inflatable proton-pack you have on your back

pap-pap-pap-pap

hwayoung bursts out into the living room wearing a plain white sheet with two holes cut out for her eyes and you feel your heart basically bust out of your chest

you already saw her in her costume earlier when you were getting her ready but

god

it gets you every single time!

you were debating on cutting two holes for her pigtails but then you’d figure she’d look less spooky that way

anD you were going to cut two holes for her arms but that would completely ruin the look of the costume as well

everyone knows ghosts don’t have arms or ponytails

“ᶦ ᵍᵒʰˢᵗ, ᵐᵃᵐᵃᵎ” hwayoung practically ramS her little body directly into you and you laugh lightly when she bounces up and down on the balls of her feet

she leans forward to boop her nose against yours through the sheet, “ᶦ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗ!”

“oh my god-” yoongi snorts, bringing his hand up over his mouth when hwayoung blinks up at him through the sheets, “that’s… that’s hilarious.”

holy shit

that’s so cute

“i have to admit, i thought a blanket ghost was a lazy costume idea, but-” jungkook nudges you aside before looking down at hwayoung with a grin, “look how cute she looks!”

“i know!” you clap your hands before letting out a sigh, “it was actually pretty hard cutting out the eyeholes into two perfect circles.”

“aw, now i’m sad that we don’t get to go trick or treating! we would look so good walking out on the streets-” jimin groans, reaching down to pat the top of hwa’s head, “the ghostbusters with this little itty bitty super scary ghost-”

“ᵇᵒᵒᵎ” hwayoung sticks her arms out from under the sheets and you let out an exaggerated gasp as if she actually scared you

(you don’t miss the way jungkook jumps but you choose not to point it out)

“okay, now what do you say?” you get up off the ground, everyone immediately going off to their designated candy stations at your signal

yoongi’s in the kitchen, jungkook’s in the laundry room, jimin’s in hwa’s bedroom, and you’re the lucky one who gets to accompany your daughter on her candy-collecting journey

“do we know if hwa’s allergic to peanuts yet?” jungkook pokes his head around the corner before holding the bag of mixed candies up, “i think i should eat all the reese’s peanut butter cups just to be safe-”

“ᵗᶦᶜᵏ ᵒʰ ᵗᵉᵃᵗᵎ”

“nuh-uh-” yoongi opens the kitchen door, “what do we really say?”

hwayoung pauses and you frown lightly as you think about his question as well

what does he mean what do you really say?

you really say trick or treat when you go trick-or-treating

what else are you supposed to say??

hwayoung suddenly perks up and reaches up to wrap her hand around your pointer finger to get your attention

you look down at her, “yes?”

“ᵗᶦᶜᵏ ᵒʰ ᵗᵉᵃᵗ ᵖᵉᵃˢᵉᵎ”

“trick or treat, pleas-” you turn around to send yoongi a playful glare, “yoongi, no one says please when they go trick or treating-!”

“we’re not raising an animal, y/n-!”

hello, playboy (secretary!yoongiverse)

yoongi doesn’t really understand why halloween is such a big deal

he’s pretty sure it’s just an excuse for people to go out half-naked anD for people to get completely wasted without being judged

sure, he supposes it can be fun for people to dress up and stuff, but at the end of the day, think about it!

you’re wasting money on a costume that you’re literally only going to be wearing ONCE a year and then you’re probably never going to wear it again because you can’t wear the same costume twice in row because everyone knows that’s lame

he’s, personally, never had to worry about costumes before because he literally?? doesn’t dress up or do anything for halloween

but things have changed now that you’re the boss

and one of those things is celebrating halloween with a fun costume party

admittedly, he enjoys company parties because he gets to drink free booze and eat free food all night (last year they served these mini buffalo chicken sliders at the christmas party and he still dreams about them from time to time)

and yeah, it’s nice getting to mingle with his colleagues and not having to worry about any office work

but costume parties are so lame!

he knows you’re only throwing it because you’re trying to prove to people that you’re a fun boss, but if anything, this costume party will make people think you’re trying too hard to be a fun boss, ultimately making you the lamest boss ever

...no offence, obviously

he tried to explain that to you because he,,. really doesn’t wanna see you get hurt again but if there’s one thing that he’s learnt about you, it’s that you’re very stubborn

anyways

he’s waiting for you because you’re changing into your costume in your office and then the two of you are going to head up to the rooftop together

“yoongi, i need you to-” yoongi looks over when you open your office door slightly before sticking your head out, “is that your costume?”

yoongi reaches up to brush his fingers over the flimsy devil’s horns he clipped into his hair before nodding, “yeah. i’m a demon. duh.”

“that’s… yeah, those are devil horns, alright,” you snort, “you didn’t even- c’mon, you’re still wearing your clothes from work-”

“then i’m a secretary from hell.” yoongi lowers his voice before wiggling his fingers spookily, “what did you need me to do?”

“i can’t zip my dress up. do you mind…?” you ask sheepishly and yoongi nods and turns to shut off his monitor seeing as you guys are almost ready to go

“sure thing. also, just a reminder that the party started, like, ten minutes ag- woah.” yoongi turns back around and feels his mouth go dry when he sees the costume you’re in

hello, playboy

he didn’t know that this was the costume you were going with

holy shit

the little black satin dress that you’ve got on is hugging your figure in a way that he’s,.., never seen before,..,

and you usually wear heels to work but these stilettos are making your legs look,.,. wow

black stockings usually aren’t the first thing he thinks of when he thinks sexy but you are most definitely changing his mind about that

“eh, it’s fine.” you sigh before spinning around and moving your hair to one side, “i don’t think anyone cares if i’m even at the party or not, anyway.”

yoongi swallows thickly when he notices the little cotton tail that’s glued onto the back of the dress

nice touch

very nice touch

his brain is telling him to move but he finds that he’s frozen to the spot as his eyes slowly trail up your bare back

you turn your head to glance at yoongi over your shoulder, “yoongi?”

he’s always thought that you were pretty, so that’s not something that’s suddenly being revealed to him or anything

and he’s always thought that you were cute (especially when you make a fool out of yourself trying to get his attention)

but this?

you look… sexy.

really, really sexy.

“yes! sorry, i just- that’s-” he clears his throat and shakes himself out of it, “that’s not true…” he steps forward before gently taking the zipper, “i would care if you weren’t there.”

the zipper glides smoothly against the silky satin as he pulls upwards, yoongi making sure not to snag any loose strands of hair or anything along the way

jesus christ

and you smell good, too

“okay, you’re good.” yoongi steps back and folds both his hands in front of him, “zipper’s, uh, good to go.”

“thanks- also, you’re only saying that because you have to.” you turn around before rolling your eyes playfully

“saying what?”

“that you’d care if i wasn’t at the party.” you repeat, reaching up to adjust the little collar you’re wearing around your neck, “i know everyone hates me, yoongi. you don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

“i’m not sugarcoating it!” yoongi scoffs, watching you struggle with the buttons in your cuffs for a moment before automatically reaching out to help you, “…and who cares what they think, anyway? at the end of the day, you’re the boss.” he nods firmly, looking up at you, “now lemme hear you say it.”

you chuckle nervously before looking away, “i’m not gonna-”

“come on...” your heart skips a beat when yoongi hooks a finger under your chin to turn your head back to face him, “just once? for me?”

god

he really knows how to pull your strings, doesn’t he?

you let out a sigh

“i’m the boss.” you mumble sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck

you’re the boss

...you’re the boss.

you have the power to fire all of these people. (not that you’re going to, but... you know)

so why are you so scared of them??

your brows knit together and you stand up a little straighter, “yeah… i am the boss…!”

“that’s right!” yoongi chirps, nudging you aside so he can quickly turn your office lights off and shut the door for you, “now, we’re going to go up to the party and we’re going to have a good time and you’re not going to sit there worrying about what other people think about you-”

“yeah! i’m not!” you grin, reaching up to fix the bunny ears sitting on your head

yoongi smiles before holding his arm out for you, “c’mon, bunny. let’s go show everyone who’s boss.”

sweeter than frosting (lveb!jooniverse)

“i’m back!”

you look up from your mixing bowl when you hear the front door slam shut

yoongi glances over his shoulder before looking back at you, “are we really going to spend the entire day baking?”

you nod before shrugging as if telling him that it is what it is

you usually get a lot of orders whenever it’s a holiday, and halloween is no different because,.,. duh

halloween parties all over the city!

the thing is, you didn’t think that you’d get a lot of orders this year because of social distancing and all of that, but you were sorely mistaken

you have forty-five orders today and you’re pretty sure you’ve bitten off way more than you can chew

your average is like fifteen orders a day

obviously you’re super grateful for the business because money is good and nice and helps to pay for bills or whatever but

woW

these are a lot of orders!!!!!

and you have to do everything by yourself!!

yoongi’s actually supposed to be helping you, but his version of helping you is sitting on his ass and occasionally handing you a tool every now and then

at one point you asked him to hand you a piping bag and he handed you a spoon which??? how?? did he even???

how did he mix up piping bag and spOON

he also eats whatever leftover bits you shave off the top of a cake or whatever frosting is unused

so, all in all... not very helpful.

it’s nice to have company, though!

yoongi even suggested to put on a spooky movie to keep the two of you somewhat in the holiday spirits while you work your butt off

he insisted that you guys watch something really scary and super bloody so he’s.,,. not entirely sure how you ended up convincing him to watch wallace and gromit: the curse of the were-rabbit

“how’s it going in here?” namjoon steps into the kitchen and almost instantly the corners of your mouth turn up in a bright smile

he offered to be one of your delivery boys today to help out and you would’ve jumped his bones right then and there if it weren’t for the presence of yoongi and hoseok in the living room

he’s just!!!!

he gets more and more perfect every single day :’)

“going okay...” you gesture to the multiple mixing bowls around the kitchen, “halfway done!”

“mm, would you look at that.” yoongi mutters to himself as he keeps his eyes glued on the laptop screen, “that is indeed a were-rabbit...”

“are you- are eating the frosting or are you helping y/n frost the cupcakes?” namjoon pauses to look at the bowl that yoongi has cradling to his chest, yoongi humming as he sucks off the remainder of the frosting off his spoon

“eating!” “helping.”

both you and yoongi speak up at the same time and you two look at each other before exchanging knowing glances

“eating.” “…yeah. eating.”

yoongi leans over to pause the movie before turning in his stool to look at namjoon

“waht are you thuppothed ta be?” yoongi asks, the spoon hanging from his mouth carelessly as he turns to look at namjoon

namjoon perks up when he realizes that he must be referring to his super fun halloween costume

he reaches up to brush his fingers over the little beansprout clip he has in his hair with a grin, “a sprout!”

he was trying to think of a creative plant-based costume but there weren’t a lot of options for grown adult men like himself

there was a broccoli costume that he could’ve pretended was a tree, but… it’s very clearly broccoli

so this was the next best thing!

and it was pretty cheap too, so that’s a bonus

“i think it’s cute.” you giggle, leaning up to press a kiss to namjoon’s cheek, “very cute!”

“mm, i think you’re cute-” namjoon grins cheekily, slinking an arm around your waist and pulling you in closer so that you can give him a proper kiss

“-!”

yoongi immediately groans and looks up towards the ceiling, “god, you guys are sick-”

“uh, says the one eating frosting by the spoonful-“ namjoon pulls away for a split second and laughs lightly when you turn his head to get him to kiss you again

heh

:-)

wa-hoo! [roommate!taehyungiverse]

“alright, people, let’s get this show on the roa- oh, jesus-!” namjoon immediately spins around as soon as he barGEs into the apartment, his face going bright red

he just got a very good look at taehyung’s bare ass which was the last thing he was excepting when he walked in here

well

maybe not the last thing he was expecting

“what the fu- ever heard of ringing the bell?!” taehyung rolls off of you before pulling his overalls up so that namjoon doesn’t see both his ass and his dick in the span of three seconds, “this isn’t even your friggin’ apartment anymor-” he turns to look at you, “hey, why does namjoon still have a key, anyway?”

you get up off the couch before pulling your skirt down a little, “in case we both lose ours! he’s also my emergency contact number.”

“okay, but- wait, why aren’t i your emergency contact number?” taehyung frowns, placing both hands on his hips

…

“okay, we don’t have time to do couple’s counselling- are you two ready to go or not?” namjoon turns his head a little to make sure that everyone’s clothed and no body parts are carelessly hanging out

phew

he’s in the clear

oh, jesus

what makes things worse is the fact that you guys are dressed up as mario and luigi

THEY’RE BROTHERS

AND BROTHERS DON’T DO WHAT YOU GUYS WERE JUST DOING

“yeah, yeah, we’re ready to go-” taehyung raises a brow as he sticks his green hat back on, “why are we even going barhopping anyway? it’s not going to be fun having to get our temperature checked every time we go into a building-“

“it’s halloween!” you hand him his mask (you guys stuck the moustaches onto the mask, which you think is a pretty clever way to deal with the whole mask wearing situation) “and now that conditions are slightly better, we have to take advantage!”

“c’mon, mario, get your heels on-” namjoon claps his hands to get your guys’ attention, “i’m parked out front and i do not want my car getting towed-”

“okay, gimme a sec-” taehyung gives your bum a swat when you bend over to step into your heels and you let out a gasp as you shoot straight back up with pink cheeks, “taehyung!”

“what?” taehyung raises both his hands in defence, “i couldn’t not smack it-”

namjoon’s face twists in discomfort

he’s completely fine with the pda

what he’s bothered by are the costumes and the mental image of luigi smacking mario’s ass that’s now burned into his mind forever

he’s… going to stay away from super smash bros for a while.

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kayuripax · 4 years

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“”Coffee Shop AU”: Cursed mask

Another story for @doodledrawsthings‘ “””Coffee Shop AU”, this time for the off-shoot branch where MJ ends up Majora Masked. This did not leave me alone, and I needed to write this out. The story includes one picture, and mentions mak’s Subconite Cherry, my Subconite Maya, and @greentrickster‘s Subconite Lime.

„Can’t wait for next Friday.” MJ raised an eyebrow at the exclamation of the small group of teenagers in front of him.

“Next Friday?”

“Yeah, Mr. MJ. Its Halloween then, and we,” one of the teens gestured around, “want to make a group costume. Lime and I have been sewing for weeks now, and it’s coming along well.” A blinding grin from all the teens followed that statement.

“Halloween already? Time sure flies.” MJ grinned back. “Can I ask what you want to dress up as?”

“That’s a secret until next week. You gotta wait just like everyone else!” Cherry chuckled, before grabbing their drink from the counter, leaving a bit of money, and running outside.

“Can’t wait then!” MJ called after them while handing out the remaining drinks. A moment later, when all the teens had left the shop, he began to grin to himself. Maybe he could convince Luka to actually go out on that day, without him having to pay much attention to his looks. He had to tell Clover first though, she had to help him convince that noodle-man.

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“You… want me to go out on Halloween.” Luka sounded like he was doubting MJ’s intelligence at that moment.

“I mean, yeah, why not? Halloween is literally the one day in the year where no one would really pay attention to you looking a bit weird. As long as you stay in a shape that could convincingly be a costume, you could basically run around as you are.” The answer came promptly, and with a raised eyebrow.

“Glowing eyes are not inconspicuous, MJ. Neither is me floating.” Luka grouched, coiling up a bit more in his room.

“There are more than enough costumes with glowing parts, man.” Clover piped up from her corner, where Hattie was showing her something, presumably a costume she had been preparing for Halloween. “MJ’s not wrong, Halloween is the one day where no one would care what you look like. If it makes you feel better, we could all dress up in a group thing, like your Cult.”

“They are not my Cult, Clover, they’re a group of teens that meets up in the forest.” Luka whined, hiding his face in embarrassment. The golden glow was still very much noticeable.

“Try to convince yourself of that, why don’t you.” She countered with a smirk. “But really, I think we could manage something for that, a group costume thingy. Get Hattie and Bonnie in on it as well, they wouldn’t mind.”

“I really wouldn’t, Dad! Pleeeaaase?” Hattie piped in just then, puppy eyes on full force.

“See, even your daughter wants you to go out.” MJ grinned. For a moment it was silent, then Luka groaned loudly, the sound echoing, before nodding.

“Fiiiine. You three are horrible people, but I see what I can do.” He said without much heat behind his words, and a tiny smile on his face.

“See, was that so hard?”

“Shut up, Moon Moon.”

---------------------------------------___________________________________--------------------------------------

In the end they decided on a theme that Hattie eagerly called “Spooky Subcon”. She suggested that Luka could just go slightly more humanoid than his usual Noodle-shape, but still very much like his Snatcher-form. Luka groaned at that name, not for the first time wondering why on earth he had to become the local Mothman equivalent. Clover was next, and had decided to go for something vaguely like a haunted statue, citing that while she wasn’t naturally spooky, she could very much dial it up on the Weeping Angel vibe from Dr. Who. Hattie was very much on board with that idea, before declaring that she and Bonnie would dress up as adventurers who deal with all the “Spooks” of Subcon Forest. That made all the adults chuckle a bit. When everyone turned to MJ though, he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“I’m not sure what I’d go as yet. Not really. I haven’t worn a costume since… well, ever since that one disastrous office party shortly after the shop opened.”

“Oh? You gotta tell me more about that.” Luka grinned widely, the glowing, fanged grin on his face almost cartoonish.

“I’d rather not, but knowing you you won’t stop prying anyways…” He coughed before continuing, face red. “I don’t even know why anymore, but the boss wanted everyone to come in costumes, and I went with the first thing I found on the attic, which was a Prince-costume. It, uh… didn’t survive the night that well. It’s very much ragged now.”

“You can use that, MJ!” Hattie exclaimed. “You could go as a prince-ghost!”

“A… Prince-ghost.” A raised eyebrow.

“Yeah! Maybe you can become more spooky by wearing a mask, and maybe wearing something alongside that outfit! Bracelets or something like that.” MJ thought over that for a moment.

“I guess I could do something like that. I have this old mask on the attic, I found it when… getting new supplies for my charms.”

“You mean when you stole bones.”

“Shut it, Clover. Anyways, it’s been lying on the attic for a while, and it looks pretty weird, so it would work for this, I think.” He rubbed his chin. “I mean, not much that could go wrong there. Worst thing that can happen is, that the costume is eaten by moths.”

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Turns out, there was a lot that could go wrong with the costume MJ had “planned”. Finding the components was not the problem. That appeared later. When he did find the mask though, a shudder ran down his back.

“I forgot how creepy that thing looks…” He muttered, wiping some dust from it. Slightly chipped, light blue paint was revealed, alongside some red stripes and fangs made from actual bones. MJ had enough experience with that to recognize it in a heartbeat. “I really wonder how old it is… A few years at least.” He turned the mask around while mumbling, noticing that the leather strip for holding it in place was still very much intact. “Well, at least I won’t have to replace that.” He got up with a slight groan, back cracking, before grabbing all the clothes and turning to the door. As he went downstairs, he missed the glint of the mask’s eyes.

No twenty minutes later he stood in front of his mirror, tugging at the ragged sleeves of the jacket in slight disdain. “That fit better last time…” He huffed, then shook his head and grabbed the mask lying on the cupboard next to the mirror. “Alright, here goes nothing. Let’s hope I can actually see out of it…” He held the mask up, before pulling the leather strip over his head. The moment the mask touched his face, another shudder ran through him. MJ coughed, then gasped. His head ached, his vision swam, and he felt his knees give. His hands clung to the cupboard, his nails dug into the wood, making grooves in it. He tried to breathe in, but he couldn’t, something was blocking the air from actually reaching his lungs. He coughed, scratched at the mask, only to scream when he could feel it, the sounds horribly disjointed and piercing. He fell to his knees, hands scrabbling at the sides of the mask, only to grasp at nothing. More pain shot through his head, then through his whole body. He managed to look into the mirror at some point, only to rear back in panic. He did not wear a mask, not anymore. Chains and manacles were wrapped around his wrists, wrists that were way too thin and gaunt, and most of all blue. He screamed in fright, the strange and yet horrifyingly similar visage in the mirror contorting itself. He scooted backwards, then watched in horror how his legs began to disappear. He could still feel them, and he was thankful for it, but they were wholly invisible, trousers, shoes and all included. When he tried to grasp at them, his hands managed to go through them, and another unearthly wail freed itself from his throat. This was not how he wanted his Halloween to go, not at all. MJ looked around, then tried to get up, out of the house. He needed to find Luka; he knew how to deal with sudden shapeshifting! Luka should know how to help him, right?

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Frantic knocking on the door followed by frantic yelling was not something Luka had expected this early on the Halloween evening, and for a moment he was entertained to coil up until whoever yelled went away. At least he was, until he heard the actual contents of the yelling, and identified the voice as MJ’s.

“LUKA THATCHER PRINCETON; OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!” Almost on instinct, ingrained from his mother yelling the exact same words, Luka’s mane bristled in shock, and he hurried to the door.

“Coming, MJ!” the moment the door opened, Luka was bowled over by a blue and red blur, and the door was shut noisily.

“Luka, you need to help me! That mask, it.. it.. it did something to me!” MJ sounded close to crying, and it took Luka a moment to answer while he took in the sight of his colleague.

“Holy… MJ? That you?” Luka took in the sight of the quivering mess of a person in front of him. It reminded him vaguely of his friend and co-worker, but at the same time it was very much different, and more in line with, as disturbing as it sounded, a person that had frozen to death at some point.

“Of course that’s me! It’s that damn masks fault! I found it on the attic and tried on that costume I thought of for tonight, and then, I don’t know how, this happened!” MJ threw his arms out, the chains on them rattling noisily. Luka’s eyes widened at that, his fur bristling in shock.

“The Mask? MJ, you have no legs! How on earth… Wait, how did you even get here without anyone seeing you? And are you alright? Except the, you know, obvious?” MJ’s breath hitched at that, and he shivered.

“I have no idea… I can still feel my legs, for your information, but they’re… invisible and intangible, it seems…” He awkwardly rubbed his arms. “As for not being seen… I… kind of have a talent for that? You don’t want to be seen when carrying bones for crafting.” A facepalm from Luka followed that statement.

“Well, I guess that skill did come in handy…” He sighed, then grasped MJ’s shoulder before leading him into the living room. “Sit down for a moment, I’m getting you something to drink. I know how you’re feeling right now. I’m gonna send Hattie to get Clover, I think she should know about this.”

“Good idea…” MJ shook his head slightly. “This… is messed up. I shouldn’t t have picked up that damn mask…”

“Hindsight is 20/20. I shouldn’t have drunk whatever Vanessa ordered, but we can’t change it now. Only work from here, MJ. HATTIE! Come here for a moment.” Not a moment later, the sound of small feet hitting the ground became audible, and Hattie skid to a halt in front of them both.

“MJ?” She tilted her head at the sight of him. He gave a small wave in return. Hattie blinked for a while before looking at her father. “Dad, do I need to get Clover?”

“Please do that, Kiddo. I think we need all hands on deck here.”

“Alright, I’m back in five.” She called, before running out of the door. For a moment, silence fell, then Luka curled up somewhat next to MJ.

“So… want to talk about it?”

“’s not like I have a big choice here, it’s that or silence…” MJ groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Does… does it always hurt like that when you change?” His voice was quiet, almost as if he was afraid to ask.

“Only the first time. Never after that. Something I’m rather glad about. Once is enough.” Luka answered truthfully.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want you to… well, feel pain all the time when you change.” MJ awkwardly rubbed his horn, then asked another question. “Do you think this can be reversed?”

“We can certainly try. Masks are made to be put on and taken off after all, there should be a way to do it.” Luka put one hand on MJ’s shoulder. “Try not to dwell on it for long, we will get this, you hear?” A small smile graced MJ’s face at that, and he nodded. “Good.”

---------------------------------------___________________________________--------------------------------------

“So… That happened.” Clover said after a moment of silence after MJ told them what had happened after he put the mask on. “MJ, please do us a favor and burn the Cursed Mask the moment we get that thing off you.” Her tone left no room for arguments, and that she looked very much like a person halfway turned into stone thanks to the magic of make-up helped with that.

“Believe me, that’s first on the list of things I’ll do after this is over.” MJ replied dryly, picking at the manacles around his wrists.

“Does this mean we can’t go out today?” Hattie piped up quietly, wringing the cape of her costume in her hands.

“Oh Kiddo…” Luka started, then looked at the other two adults. “I…”

“As long as someone here can lend me a set of pants or something I can use to conceal the fact that my legs are pretty much invisible and intangible, I can deal. I got the breakdown out of my system earlier.” MJ added, smiling at Hattie. “After all, we promised it to you and Bonnie, didn’t we? Who knows, maybe she has an idea how to get that mask off.” That made Hattie cheer, and she quickly ran into her room, coming back with some yellow cloth that was roughly the same colour as the undershirt MJ still wore.

“We can make that longer, then it looks as if you wear a robe!”

“Not a bad idea, Hattie. We could do that pretty quickly, I think.” Luka hummed.

“Let me do that. No offense Hattie, but you don’t sew as cleanly as I can, and you currently have four fingers in total, Luka.” Clover said, before grabbing MJ and the cloth. “Get me needle and thread, and this is over in ten minutes tops,” she declared.

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The evening was spent in a thankfully rather relaxed manner. Luka ended up making himself look only vaguely humanoid, the robe-solution for MJ’s leg problem worked, and pretty much everyone liked their “costumes”. Bonnie was a bit shocked when she was told what happened to MJ, but offered the possibility that the mask could be taken off after the night was over. After a moment of thinking, it was accepted as a possible solution, after which the demand for candy became loud enough that the group began moving. They ended up encountering the “Snult” along the way, all of them dressed up in the same costume, their heights being the only way to discern who was who.

“So, what are you supposed to be?” MJ asked after a moment of looking the costumes over. Lime and Maya had done pretty good work with the costumes, in his opinion.

“We’re the Subconites! The Loyal Minions of the Snatcher!” came the almost cacophonous reply of over 20 teenagers at once, and Luka looked a bit bewildered, touched, and embarrassed all at once. “That’s a cool costume by the way, Mr. MJ.” Cherry said after a moment, giving the man a thumbs up.

“Oh, thank you.” MJ laughed a bit awkwardly.

“You look like a cryptid. You need a cryptid name now.” One of the subconites said. “MOONJUMPER!” another yelled promptly.

“Moonjumper? Why Moonjumper?”

“Well, because MJ.” Came the prompt reply, said in a tone that suggested a lack of belief in MJ’s intelligence.

“I… guess I can’t say anything against that.”

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The night ended with little fanfare, but a lot of candy. People thought the group costume with the two kids was adorable, and the candy given as pseudo-payment was plenty for it. Bonnie was allowed to sleep over at Hattie’s and Luka’s house that night, and after not even a moment of hesitation MJ and Clover followed suit and slept over as well. Once they all piled up in a rather comfortable cuddle pile, it did not take long for them all to fall asleep. Luka was an excellent and rather warm and comfy snake-ghost-thing, a fact he was not unaware of. It was at about 6 in the morning when MJ woke up again though, his entire body itching and shuddering. He blinked a few times after opening his eyes, noticing that his sight really did not get better, and automatically groped for his glasses, only to notice that he didn’t have them with him. Then the events from yesterday caught up, and his hands flew to his face. He could’ve cried in relief when his hands found the edge of the mask, and he almost tore it from his face.

“You gave me a lot of trouble.” He hissed at it, the almost leering grin and decorated eyes on the wood staring back without an answer. “Can’t wait to throw you into the fire.” He huffed, chucking it into a corner before curling up again. It was too damn early for this, and it was not as if the mask could run away. By closing his eyes, he missed the mask’s eyes gleaming once more, the grin seemingly growing wider, before freezing once more, becoming nothing more than old wood and bone. Hours later, it was thrown into a bonfire, and the ashes scattered into the winds. Nothing remained, no wood, no leather, no teeth made of bone. Only ashes on the wind, never to be seen again. The Mask was gone for good.

#ahit #ahit 'coffee shop au'#The snatcher #moonjumper #hat kid #bow kid #subconites #subconite cherry #subconite lime #subconite maya #the florist #Some body horror courtesy of MJ #MJ gets majora masked and is very unhappy #is the mask sentient? No one knows #and now no one ever will.

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whitesparrows97 · 4 years

Text

Cat And Mouse

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Halloween was the greatest time of the year for you. And nobody could ruin that. Nobody. But you didn’t expect three kids to literally come out of hell for Halloween just to test your patience. The fact that your grumpy neighbor didn’t help you in your misery and even laughed at you didn’t make the evening any better.

Warnings: Besides some really rude kids, none really

Word Count: 5.4K

Finally the time had come. As some celebrated their birthdays or Christmas, October 31st was the most special day of the year for you. As soon as you saw only one leaf on the ground that had fallen from the trees, you stocked up with films and sweets to get in the mood for the best time of the year.

Not that the preparation was necessary, as much as you were looking forward to the next year already on November 1st.

What was even more exciting for you was that you moved into a new apartment a few months ago. For several years you had lived in a skyscraper where children had never dared to ring the bell and ask for candy.

You remembered a year when you were jumping with joy and ran to the door with both hands full of sweets when the doorbell actually did rang. A few seconds later it turned out that your neighbour, an elderly woman suffering from dementia at an early stage as you suspected, had locked herself out again.

But this year everything was different.

You had moved into a small complex with only six apartments. You got along well with all the neighbours and it was a very homely living together. The only one who fell out of the whole was your neighbour across the hall who shared the second floor with you.

You didn’t know much about him except that his name was Min Yoongi and he was in his mid-twenties. But that was only a rough guess because you rarely saw him. The only time you “talked” to him was that one night when he had ordered dinner. You had come home at the same time as the delivery man was standing outside the front door. You let him into the house and a few seconds later you could only see a small part of Min Yoongi’s face, which was visible through the small space where he had opened his door.

How he had received the food through the small gap you asked yourself until today. You didn’t get more than a “Hi” back then and your communication ended there with that.

You weren’t even sure if he worked, let alone left the apartment at all. That would at least explain why you so rarely crossed paths.

Nevertheless, you didn’t let your grumpy neighbor ruin your mood when you came home from work and prepared everything for the upcoming hustle and bustle. Your boss had let you go two hours earlier so you could spend some nice hours with your families. That was the advantage of working in a small family business where all your colleagues had already started families and wanted to trick or treat around the blocks with their children.

You didn’t complain when you made yourself comfortable on the sofa with a cup of hot cocoa, you wrapped yourself in a blanket and watched the first movie of your marathon.

During the film, your gaze glided back and forth to the clock and you wondered when the doorbell would ring first – and if it would ring at all. You quickly pushed this thought out of your head. Your neighborhood was generally known for the fact that many families lived here and that everyone knew one another.

You almost bounced with joy as the shrill ringing of your bell echoed through the apartment. You nearly stumbled when you jumped off the sofa and your legs got tangled in the blanket. But you didn’t care and you got to the door in record time.

With a wide grin you opened it. In front of you stood three boys and your smile disappeared from your face.

“Trick or treat,” said one of the boys who stood right in front of you. You estimated him to be about eleven, but by no means older than fourteen.

“You’re not even dressed up,” you just gave back and couldn’t hide your disappointed undertone.

“So what,” replied one of the other two, shrugging his shoulders. Judging by the expression on his face, he had imagined the evening to be different from ringing the doorbell of strangers with his two friends and asking for sweets.

“What is it then?” the first boy took you out of your thoughts and your gaze fell on him again. “Are we still getting something or not?”

You had to hold back a laugh when you observed how rude the boy was. Determined not to let him spoil your good mood, you nodded once and grabbed the bowl that stood next to you on the chest of drawers. You pressed three little chocolate bars into the boy’s hand, which he looked at with disapproval.

“Is that all?” he asked and looked at you disgusted. His two friends also looked at you waiting and expected you to give them more.

With a sigh and eye rolls you reached again for the bowl and pressed a second load into the boy’s hand. “Satisfied?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah, but it’s okay,” the boy said and turned around without another word. His two friends followed him and made their way to the door on the opposite side.

“Good luck there,” you just mumbled and closed the door. You couldn’t help but feel a little down. When you used to live with your parents in a small terraced house, there were always children who stood in front of the door, proudly presenting their costumes and happy about every little thing. What was different now? Was it just the neighborhood or were it the children who seemed to become more and more rude?

You heard a loud knocking that came from the hallway to your apartment. Curious as you were, you stood on tiptoes to look through the spy and observe what happened a few meters in front of you, only separated by your thin apartment door.

The three boys stood in front of your neighbour’s door, visibly irritated, because he did not open the door. That didn’t surprise you and you felt a gloating grin spread across your face. That’s what they got. If they had just been nicer to you, you might have warned them about your bad-tempered neighbour.

“Yo, he won’t open the door,” one boy said and shook the doorknob. Wow, they really didn’t shy away from anything to get some candy.

“Then maybe we should teach him a lesson,” said the leader of the three, as you suspected, with a diabolical grin you could see as he turned to his two friends. He took off his backpack and opened it. Laughing quietly, the other two reached in and triumphantly held an object in the air.

You squinted your other eye harder to see what kind of object it was. The blood froze in your veins as you recognized the small spray cans and your heartbeat accelerated as one of the boys stepped right up to Yoongis door.

Without thinking about the consequences, you grabbed the handle and opened the door with a little more force than necessary. The door handle slipped out of your sweaty hands and slammed loudly against the wall. You flinched and hoped it hadn’t left a hole.

The other three also seemed surprised and looked at you in horror. Shortly you felt a little triumph, but that feeling didn’t last long as the leader moved away from the door and took a few steps towards you.

“What is it? There’s nothing to see here,” he snapped at you and raised his head a few centimeters higher. He didn’t even try to hide the spray can in his hand.

You thought for a moment. “Okay,” you started hesitantly, “I’ll make you an offer.”

The other two also came up to you at the word “offer” and looked at you with unreadable expressions. “What kind of offer?” the leader asked and crossed arms in front of his chest.

“I’ll give you some more sweets and you leave the door of my neighbor alone. Deal?” You looked hopefully at the three while the two boys in the back were nodding at each other. The leader, on the other hand, kept looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“It depends, what do you mean by some more?” So he wanted to negotiate. But you could do that too. You mirrored the boy’s posture and also crossed your arms in front of your chest and tilted your head a little while thinking.

“Once again as much as before,” you made your first offer and he directly shook his head. “Okay, maybe twice as much then?” Another head shake.

“We want more.” He looked at you challenging and you suddenly doubted whether it was the right decision to open the door a second time. You didn’t owe Yoongi anything, on the contrary, you didn’t even know him. And you were sure he wouldn’t do the same for you in this case. He probably wouldn’t even spy at the door like you had.

“How much more?” you asked anyway, because you couldn’t just slam the door on the three boys without saying a word. Even if that was what you would most like to do at that moment.

“Everything,” came the boy’s simple answer and you were taken aback. You choked with dread and had to cough. While you were having your coughing attack and trying not to suffocate, three annoyed boys watched you.

A moment later, fortunately, you collected yourself again. “What do you mean, everything?” you croaked and looked at them with big eyes.

“We want all of your candy,” he made clear and came one step closer to you. Even though he was just a little boy who was much younger than you, you felt the need to back away. Back into your warm and safe apartment.

“But then there will be nothing left for the other children,” you tried to appeal to their consciences, even though it was clear to you that it had probably long since been lost.

A shrug of the leader’s shoulder confirmed your suspicion. “So what, that’s not our problem.” He waited for a moment, but you were silent. “Of course we can also leave a work of art on the door of your neighbor. If you like, we can make your door a little prettier, too.”

You glared at him from narrowed eyes, but you didn’t know what you could possibly say against him. Beaten you sighed and made a head movement to the backpack. “Fine, but if I see you here again, I’ll call the police,” you warned before you tipped the bowl of sweets into the backpack. “Happy now?” you asked again. “Although, I’m not really interested in the answer,” you added before one of the guys could answer.

Without another word you slammed the door shut and dropped yourself to the floor. Great, that’s not how you imagined it. If someone rang the bell now, you would have to explain to them in disappointment that you had no more sweets. Or worse, you’d have to ignore the ringing and pretend you weren’t home.

You heard loud rumbling as the three boys stomped down the stairs and you breathed a sigh of relief as you heard the front door fall down into the lock. For a moment it was quiet and you let your head sink into your hands. Why did you have to have such a big heart and always needed to help people? It rarely ended well for you.

A moment later you were back on your feet, a decision made. You slipped into your shoes, opened the door and walked the few meters to your neighbour. Determined, you pressed the bell next to his door. There was no noise, the dick had turned his doorbell off. On a day like this.

Angrily you knocked against the wood and your knuckles hurt, so hard you beat against it. There was still no reaction.

“Min Yoongi,” you said out loud and you didn’t care that your voice echoed through the whole stairwell. Your other neighbors should know what kind of guy he was. “I know you’re home. Do you want to know how I know that?” You waited a moment with your answer to increase the tension. “Because you’re always home.”

You knocked again, this time with your palm to spare your knuckles. “Yoongi!” You put your hand back on the door when it suddenly opened.

In front of you stood your neighbor, hair messy and tousled, and under his eyes two thick blue rings of eyes were blazing. “What?” he asked and looked at you in anger. You didn’t know if you had just pulled him out of his sleep or if that was his normal appearance. Who slept shortly after eight?

Still, you were a little overwhelmed by his cold and direct nature and couldn’t get a word out. As confused as he looked, you couldn’t deny that he looked good. His black hair fell slightly into his eyes and contrasted strongly with the white t-shirt he was wearing.

A few moments ago you had been angry and blamed him for having to give all your candy to the three boys. Now you noticed that it was actually your own fault. You interfered and that’s what you got out of it.

Yoongi still looked at you in question, one hand holding the door, ready to close it at any moment, if you didn’t have an answer ready in a second.

“Do you still have some candy at home,” you pressed out with a pounding heart.

“Aren’t you a little too old to go trick or treat?” came the prompt response from him and you grew even more insecure. He was about to close the door but you could put a foot in between and prevent the door from falling into the lock.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” asked the dark-haired man, pulling his eyebrows together in confusion.

“You didn’t answer me,” you just said and noticed how breathless your voice sounded. You felt like you were running a marathon and not just a few feet from your door to his.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Just because you let yourself be blackmailed by children doesn’t mean it’s my fault.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and your eyebrows almost disappeared into your hairline. “You heard them then!” you exclaimed.

“Yes and I have never seen anyone negotiate as badly as you in my whole life,” he said with complacency and raised an eyebrow slightly in a mocking way.

“For your information, I did this so that your door wouldn’t get soiled. The boys were about to leave a graffiti on it,” you said upset. You didn’t think it was fair that Yoongi couldn’t even give you a little thank you.

Yoongi mirrored your posture and also crossed his arms and shrugged his shoulders once. “So what? It’s not my door. Besides, I didn’t ask you for it.”

You looked at him speechless for a moment. Was this really happening? You could have imagined that he wasn’t the most talkative or that he rather stayed on his own. But you hadn’t expected him to be such an arrogant asshole.

“How can anyone be so ignorant?” you started angry. “If you don’t like Halloween and apparently don’t like people in general, okay, that’s one thing. But treating me like this is not fair. I didn’t do anything to you.” Breathless and with your chest lifting quickly you finished your monologue. Yoongi kept looking at you with expressionless eyes.

“What do you expect from me now,” he asked after a moment of awkward silence.

Yes, what was that actually? He had told you that he had no sweets at home to give you. Why were you still standing in front of his door complaining to him?

You could feel the redness rising in your cheeks as you noticed your mistake. You tried not to let it show and looked around for a proper answer. As it turned out, the dust on the skirting boards and a few dried brown leaves in the corner next to Yoongis door had as few ideas as you did.

“So,” Yoongi asked when you still didn’t get a word out after a few moments. You didn’t dare to look at him because then it would be even harder for you to find an answer. You heard Yoongi sigh. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep working now.”

Your head shot up and you looked into his brown eyes that looked at you awaiting. You were a little surprised when you noticed the warmth they radiated. You had expected him to be angry and annoyed at your behavior, but there was no trace of it on his face.

“You work from home?” you asked with curiosity and were glad to have found a new topic of conversation. If you’d been uncomfortably silent for a few more moments, you’d probably be bursting with shame.

Yoongi nodded. “I need a first draft of a song by tomorrow and I’m a little stuck right now.” A little embarrassed he rubbed his neck with his hand. “Actually, I’m really glad that you got me out of my thoughts. For a couple of hours now they’ve only been turning around one verse and that’s slowly driving me crazy.”

You looked at him with big eyes. Was Yoongi really nice to you right now? And even so suddenly…

“Make sure you don’t drool,” noted the dark-haired man, and quickly you closed your mouth, which you didn’t even realize you had opened. Your cheeks reached a new level of redness. “Would you like to come in for a moment before we continue to stand in the hallway?”

From second to second the young man standing in front of you in his apartment door surprised you more and more. “I can’t, I don’t have any sweets at home,” you just returned a little confused. Your thoughts slipped back to the poor children who stood at your door and you wouldn’t have the heart to tell them that you couldn’t give them anything.

“God, you’re not letting up, are you?” The dark-haired guy looked at you and when you just shook your head, he sighed again and made efforts to close the door again.

“No,” you said and held the door open with your palm. “Please, don’t,” you quickly added.

You heard Yoongi laugh softly behind the door behind which he had disappeared. “I’m not leaving, I’ll be right back.”

A few loud noises reached you in the hallway and you thought you heard Yoongi swear once. You quickly dismissed the thought as the dark-haired man pushed back into the hallway and to your surprise stepped out of his apartment and closed the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” you asked confused.

“What does it look like? We go to the nearest supermarket and buy sweets so that you can finally shut up.”

You wanted to complain that he shouldn’t be so mean to you when you saw the light smile that surrounded the corners of his mouth. When he saw your gaze, he quickly pulled them back into a straight line and waved one hand to your apartment.

“Come on, put on something decent and then let’s go!”

“Okay, okay,” you said with your hands up in defence and hurried back to your apartment. Quickly you grabbed your jacket, a big scarf, your wallet and your car keys. Without another thought, you closed the door behind you. Immediately the color disappeared from your face.

“Oh oh,” you whispered and scanned your jacket in panic.

“What now?” Yoongi replied behind you. “Please don’t tell me you left your keys inside.”

Slowly you turned to him and just remained silent. He rubbed his eyes with strain and then let his arms fall powerless. “All right, let’s sort this out later.”

“Oh God, the bill will be so expensive,” you mumbled as you both climbed down the stairs. You were already dreading having to call the locksmith later. At least it was the end of the month and therefore not so bad when you were thinking about your not so far away pay check.

Once outside, you wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck. For the last few hours it had cooled down a lot and the wind swirled the brown leaves off the ground. “My car is right there,” you let Yoongi know and made a head movement towards your little car a few feet away.

“Did you at least think of the key for that?” Yoongi teased, but you just gave him an evil look from the side and got into your car.

When your eyes fell on the passenger seat, a blush rose to your face. Before your neighbor could open the passenger door, you grabbed the paper cups and other trash with both hands and threw them into the back seats behind you. Just at the right moment, as the door next to you was opened a second later.

The dark-haired man dropped onto the seat and there was a loud crunch. He frowned, rose slightly from the seat and pulled out a broken plastic box from under his butt. Silently and with an eyebrow raised, he looked at you.

“Sorry,” you smiled embarrassed and started the car to set off for the supermarket. Your heart grew when you saw the little children on the sidewalks ringing at the different houses with smiles on their faces.

Looking at the street and the traffic in front of you, you could only see from the corner of your eye how Yoongi bent over into the footwell. A moment later he rose with a plastic bag in his hand, which he touched with pointed fingers.

“Your car is a garbage dump,” he noticed and you rolled your eyes.

“Well, at least I have a car,” you gave back. You were proud of your car, even though you may not always treat it very well. And even if it wasn’t the newest car on the market, it had taken you everywhere in the last few years.

“I got one, too,” Yoongi said and your head spun to the dark-haired for a moment before you concentrated on the traffic again.

“What? Why didn’t you say that? Then why are we driving with my car?” The questions just bubbled out of you and you asked yourself what you were getting yourself into here. You didn’t even really know Yoongi and his behavior irritated you more and more by the minute.

He just shrugged his shoulders and watched a small group of probably elementary school kids showing each other their loot. Surprised, you noticed the little smile surrounding his lips. You knew it, nobody could resist the charm of Halloween…

“You wanted to go and buy sweets,” he replied and turned his attention back to the street in front of him.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the car and you didn’t know what to say. When you risked a short sideways glance and looked briefly at his face, the quiet didn’t seem to bother him. But maybe he enjoyed the silence that much because he had been sitting in front of his computer for the last hours working on his song. You could imagine that a little rest could work wonders.

After all, he had told you that this was one reason why he had even suggested going to the supermarket with you. And apparently your presence didn’t seem to bother him. Otherwise, he could have just gone for a walk if he needed some distance from his project.

A little later you turned into the parking lot of the small supermarket. Relieved, you noticed that it was almost empty, so you could park right in front of the entrance.

“Aren’t you coming?” you asked while your seat belt rolled back and Yoongi made no effort to unbuckle.

His gaze was out of his side window and he just shrugged his shoulders, lost in thought. “I’m sure, you can handle it on your own.”

“That’s not the point,” you mumbled, disappointed that he was so cold to you. “Maybe you’re going to steal my car while I’m away,” you tried again.

“Then take the keys with you.” He still ignored you and didn’t look at you anymore. With a slightly annoyed sigh you grabbed the keys and left the car.

As you walked through the corridors of the marketplace and occasionally stretched out your hands left and right to grab a few bags and chocolate bars, you wondered why you had protected Yoongi. He didn’t seem to be grateful at all.

Yet your sense of justice was greater than your pride, so you swallowed your anger over your grumpy neighbor and paid for your little purchase.

Already from a distance you could see the dark-haired man who had got out of the car and leaned casually against the door of the passenger’s side, arms crossed.

“Did you need some fresh air?” you asked as soon as you were within earshot. He turned his head to you and nodded before getting back into the car.

You stowed the bag in the trunk and sat behind the wheel. Immediately you noticed a difference in the car. Your heart stopped for a moment when you noticed how clean and tidy the inside of the car was. It seemed like Yoongi had thrown away the old packaging and garbage while you were in the supermarket.

When you started the car, you couldn’t help grinning. “Thank you,” you said and although you didn’t elaborate on the sentence, Yoongi knew what you were referring to.

“No problem,” he surprisingly returned. “The air tonight is very clear,” he said after a short break.

You were surprised by this comment. You wouldn’t have thought him as interested in such trivialities. To be fair, you had to say that you had hardly exchanged a word with him before tonight and therefore hardly knew him at all. Actually, you were in no position to get a picture of him and then be surprised if his behavior did not match this picture.

Even though you only became aware of it now, you had known it from the beginning when you knocked on his door today… no, actually even earlier. Even when you once greeted him and he more or less slammed the door in your face, you wanted to get to know him better. You didn’t believe that he was really as unapproachable as he was and his last actions confirmed your thesis.

Just the fact that he had cleaned your car while you were away, even though you hadn’t asked him to, was probably the sweetest thing a man had ever done for you. As sad as that sounded. You worried about your barely existing social life on another evening.

When you stood at your front door, you became painfully aware of something again. “Oh God, what am I doing? When I call the locksmith now, it costs me half a fortune,” you complained and could not suppress the whining undertone.

“Don’t worry about that for now,” Yoongi said as you climbed the stairs to the second floor. “If you like, you can come to my place first and then we’ll figure something out.”

You hesitated for a moment. As you noticed on the way back, you hardly knew your neighbour. Nevertheless, he seemed like a reasonable young man who seemed to have wanted only the best for you so far.

“Okay,” you said.

Yoongi seemed to notice your insecurity and gave you a quick look over his shoulder. “I didn’t want to steal your car, honestly, who would want that?” he began and muttered the second part of the sentence more to himself. “And I don’t intend to kidnap you or whatever you’re imagining. How stupid would I be to take my neighbour for this?”

You laughed before you could hold yourself back. “What?” the dark-haired man asked confused.

You waved your hands defensively, still a laugh on your lips. “That just sounds like you’d rather kidnap strangers otherwise.”

“Who knows?” he said and entered his apartment. “Happy Halloween and all,” he added and you followed him. You were glad about the warmth that received you and slowly replaced the cold that seemed to have spread to your bones.

As you were taking your shoes off, something touched your calf and you screamed. A second later, Yoongi’s head popped out of one of the rooms, as you suspected the living room. “Everything all right?”

You were still anxiously circling yourself and searching your surroundings. What the hell was that? Did you imagine that? At least it wouldn’t be surprising, after the long day and all the incidents.

“Be careful not to step on Eodum,” you heard him say.

“Eodum?” you asked and entered the living room as well. For a moment you stood in the door frame to absorb the room. To call it a living room would definitely not do it justice. Sure, there was a sofa and a TV, but otherwise most of the room was definitely occupied by his monstrous desk and the elegant piano.

“Wow,” you said and carefully stroked your fingers over the keys, afraid of accidentally pressing them too hard so that they made a sound. You felt Yoongi’s gaze on you and looked up.

“Do you play?” Yoongi joined you and let his fingers fly light as a feather over the keys. Immediately a soft melody filled the silence in the room. You couldn’t take your eyes off his narrow, long fingers.

You shook your head. “My mom always wanted me to learn,” you said with a smile on your lips as you remembered her words. “But I never liked my teachers,” you admitted laughing.

“I can teach you if you want,” he replied and you looked up surprised.

“You don’t need to do that!” You ignored the remark you read between the lines that he assumed that you might like him. It was not far from the truth…

“The offer stands if you ever want to come back to it.” The melody had stopped meanwhile and you believed to see a small glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes.

Before you could follow that up or answer Yoongi, you were startled by a loud noise right next to you. Your head jumped to the piano that had suddenly started playing. Only it wasn’t a nice melody, but randomly thrown together notes.

You exhaled with relief as you saw the black ball of fur strutting gracefully across the keys, seemingly not caring what unpleasant noises it made.

“So it was you who scared me so much,” you said, holding your hand out to the little cat so that it could sniff at you first. It looked at your hand for a short moment before it almost turned its head away in disgust and disappeared in the opposite direction.

“Your cat’s mean,” you said and let your hand sink disappointed.

Yoongi laughed softly. “You know how the saying goes. The pets resemble their owners.”

“That refers to dogs,” you gave back, but couldn’t deny the grin that spread across your face. Yoongi couldn’t hide his emotions any longer and joined in your laughter. “You’re not as cold as you think, by the way,” you said after you caught yourself again.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I think Eodum just needs a little time to get used to new people. Just like me.”

You threw him a short smile as an answer. “I think there is no way around calling the locksmith,” you remarked thoughtfully.

“Probably not,” Yoongi replied and took a look at the watch. “It’s probably too late now for someone to ring the bell and ask for something sweet too.”

“What?” You took your cell phone out of your pocket in surprise and your heart sank. It was already after nine and most of the children probably had to be at home already.

“By the way, the kids really screwed you over,” Yoongi laughed and showed his gummy smile as he picked up the topic again.

“Don’t be so mean,” you said, playing offended and crossing your arms in front of your chest, “at least I saved your door from being soiled,” you reminded him again of your heroic deed.

“You let those kids clean you out,” he laughed, whereupon you began to sulk and let yourself fall onto the sofa. That would be a few long hours before the locksmith would show up.

Hi! I’ve been sitting on this short story for ages and I’m still not 100% satisfied with it. Nevertheless I wanted to give you a little story for Halloween. Also, I have put so much time and energy into this story and I don’t want to throw that away and withhold it from you. And not only me, but also @heyitsayjayy who patiently answered all my questions and proofread the story. Thank you again! ♥️

I hope you enjoyed this short story anyway. Maybe there will be a second part, at least if you’d want to, so please let me know. ♥️

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #halloween bts #bts

132 notes · View notes

nationaldvam · 5 years

Link

After the New Year a few years ago, I bought myself a copy of Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. It wasn’t a book I actually felt I needed; if anything, I’m almost annoyingly tidy already, a veritable Roomba of a human. I’d moved fifteen times in the decade since I’d turned 18, each time trying to shed whatever I no longer wore.

I bought Kondo’s book mostly as a ploy to get my boyfriend, Rob, to clean out his nightstand. Our courtship had been a steady reclamation of his less-tidy space by my relentless wave of tidiness. (Whatever’s going on in Marie Kondo’s brain that makes her say “I love mess!”, I have it, too.) His nightstand, though, was The Place He Put Things. A place I ached to clean.

The book arrived, and after weeks spent suggesting he read it, I finally decided to live by example. I did as Marie Kondo prescribed: I emptied my closet and bureau into a pile on the living room floor, separated their contents into a peak of jackets and a peak of dresses. One by one, I picked items up and asked myself whether they sparked joy. If they didn’t, into the discard pile they went.

I didn’t take me long to see it, what the discard pile was. It was only the skirts, only the dresses, only the flowers and lace and sparkles. It was everything I’d bought hoping that some colleague might say: Isn’t that cute?

I burst into tears, shame filling me entirely, and then I laughed about the fact that this book had made me cry, this silly, stupid cleaning book.

For months — well, years — I’d carried around a stack of telling moments in my mind, ones I’d shuffle periodically, ones I knew told me something but something I didn’t want to acknowledge to myself, let alone admit. For example, there was this one moment back before I’d quit my job. I had worked at a start-up media company. It was the sort of office that looks fun and has fun snacks and there’s pressure to dress up on fun holidays like Halloween. One Halloween, I’d come as Ace Ventura.

After lunch they were giving prizes to those who’d really gone above and beyond costume-wise, myself not included. I stood in the crowd next to a colleague who’d come dressed as her boss. Earlier her costume had gotten a big reaction, though, because it was her dressing as him: sneakers, jeans, glasses, of course the hoodie. Everyone laughed. Now we were standing around, drinking booze, eating sugar. I told her I liked her costume and she looked embarrassed.

“I feel so awkward. Don’t you feel awkward?” she asked.

I didn’t get what she meant.

“Dressing like a guy!” she said.

“Oh,” I said, and without thinking added: “I always dress like a guy for Halloween, or at least a lot of the time.”

(I mentally flipped through prior Halloweens: My first costume, at age three, an authentic lederhosen. In elementary and middle school, I’d dressed as a male nerd, a male tourist, Charlie Chaplin. When I was in grad school in Iowa, in my mid-twenties, I’d won second place at a roller derby halftime costume contest dressed as Justin Bieber. When I said “Justin Bieber” into the judge’s mic, someone in the crowd shouted, “That’s a chick!”)

“That’s funny,” I said to my colleague, “I haven’t noticed that before.”

Which was funny, because just getting dressed, day-to-day, I struggled with, always. Most mornings my bedroom floor would be lost beneath tops and skirts pulled on and torn off. I’d apply eye makeup or lipstick, then remove it, then change my mind again. I’d pause at the door and cringe and end up back in my room, eyeing the clock, and pull the shirt from the day before from the laundry. It had always been like this.

Back then, I was always sweating. At work I sweated through shirts and cardigans and sometimes jackets, too. If I thought about the sweat it seemed to get worse. In the summer especially I’d go hide in the bathroom a while, wait until the whole joint was empty so I could crouch with my pits beneath the hand dryer. Sometimes I told myself little lies about how I was getting better, generally — getting better at having style, getting better at faking confidence.

I knew deep down this was all a fiction. If anything, I sensed I was getting worse at even leaving the apartment. It grew harder to dress for work; I eventually wore the same few items over and over: a black maxi dress, lace-up sandals, a jean jacket to mop up sweat.

But then I sold a book, and realized that to finish it, I had to quit my job. This meant no more office or coworkers. It meant I didn’t have to leave the house at all. This idea — never having to dress for work again — was appealing for reasons I still couldn’t quite explain.

Now with no office to go to, I rarely dressed, and if I did I wore sweatpants. The days I did go out, for an appointment or a meeting, I might force myself to dress up. Tripping down a cobblestone street one afternoon in heels, I wondered who the hell I was trying to fool.

I eventually ran out of the one makeup item I still sometimes wore, red lipstick, and now found myself incapable of making the trip to Sephora to buy more. The place had always make me melt with nervousness, but now, so unpracticed at being in public, I felt somehow incapable of going inside. I finally convinced a friend to come with me. I found myself trying to explain to her that doing something like buying lipstick was very hard for me. I don’t think she understood what I meant. I don’t think I understood what I meant.

A few days later I wrote about the lipstick incident in a blog post. I published it hurriedly, before I could talk myself out of it. In the post, for the very first time to anyone, I acknowledged what that day I termed “my gender stuff.”

A month later, kneeling and sobbing before my Marie Kondo discard pile, it felt silly, sure, that this book is what had finally done it, but I also couldn’t unsee my actual preferences: so much of the feminine clothing I owned did not spark joy.

I donated it all. I hung and folded the items that remained: flannel shirts, baggy jeans, t-shirts. I had kept a few dresses and heels and feminine winter coats, ones that had seemed really special when I’d bought them. I knew Marie Kondo wouldn’t have approved of my choice to keep them. Each day I passed them and they stared right back at me.

During the months that followed, I steadily shed feminine things. One day, all my makeup: gone. Another day, all my earrings: gone. (My ears had been pierced when I was two!) I tried to do as Marie Kondo said and thanked these items for what they’d given me. I guiltily threw them out, and then felt wonderful.

One August day, I donated the last of my heels and dresses, the ones that had once been my absolute favorites. I happened to run into someone I knew in line at the thrift shop, and he offered to take my box of things to donate. I put them in his trunk and watched him drive away. I didn’t say to him, nor could I have articulated, that I was throwing out the last of me pretending to be a woman.

Walking away, I felt joy, an almost ridiculous joy. I also felt terror, like when a cartoon has walked off a cliff and is standing blissfully on air.

A few days later, Rob and I happened to be flying to another city on vacation. I packed a mostly empty suitcase. When we got there, I said, I’d force myself to go shopping.

Rob knew I’d gotten rid of a lot of my clothes, and I’d begun to talk about gender, but, like me, he didn’t know where I was going with any of this.

The first store was GAP-like. To my left were waifish white mannequins wearing blouses and skirts, cashmeres and scarves; to the right were slightly bigger ones in belted khakis and button downs.

I walked straight ahead, wanting to turn right but afraid. I broke left through the dresses, feeling immediately disappointed in myself, Rob following behind.

I swerved back to the right, hurriedly walking through the men’s things now, wondering if anyone was on to me. I looked at a pair of pants, willing myself to pick them up. How would I ever figure out my size? How could I ever work up the nerve to walk back to the dressing room? I felt like I was going to throw up or pass out. I marched back out the glass doors, with Rob behind me.

We found a café and I cried and tried to tell him some of my story, the first I’d ever told anyone any of it, really. I recalled being three and learning my bedroom walls were painted green because my parents had expected me to be a boy, a fact I had always loved. I recalled how the nickname I’d had since birth, Sandy, was a name for boys and girls both, another fact I had always loved.

“For as long as I can remember, this is who I’ve been,” I explained to him: internally not-female, or not just female, though I didn’t know what this made me instead.

“I love you,” he said, “I support you.” He seemed less surprised than I’d have guessed he be. What fear I had that he would love me less if I were honest about it all was quickly dissolving.

I finished an iced tea. I felt better.

We resolved that I could try going into a second store. He held my hand. I nervously felt along the side that had masculine things. The woman behind the register was wearing a ballcap herself and didn’t seem bothered. I went into a dressing room and tried on item after item. Every time I emerged, Rob beamed.

I couldn’t afford to buy much of anything that day, so when he took out his card, I didn’t stop him; I’d never felt so grateful.

That evening, we went on a date. I wore a new button down, trousers, Oxfords. We moved down the street, his hand in mine, which was shaking, so terrified by the question of what we must look like to others.

Nobody much noticed, or if they did and cared, they didn’t show it. This, I’ve since learned, is often the way of things.

Before that night, I realized, I had never before been both “dressed up” and comfortable.

“You look hot,” Rob said, and unlike how I’d always reacted to such sentiments, I didn’t want to swat away his compliment like a gnat.

The best feelings are the converse of this cisgender othering: the moments of communion, however brief, I share with other queer and trans people out there in the world. Like last June, I walked down Sixth Avenue during the NYC Dyke March, one body in a long splay of bodies, bodies with voices, bodies with drums, and I felt, for the first time ever, like I was surrounded by my peers.

That year I didn’t leave the apartment much because there was always work to be done, and because what would I wear? Because what was I even doing? Because sometimes I’d cry so hard.

I had learned words for myself, words like nonbinary and trans, but I couldn’t yet imagine saying these words about myself to anyone. Trump was elected. The apartment was high in a building with a terrace. I’d stand on it barefoot and study the traffic on the avenue below.

That year I read books — books for the book I was writing, but also books about gender, books I’d finally let myself get after years of not buying such books. When I finally read Julia Serano’s Whipping Girl, I reflected a long time on my choice of Halloween costume that time at work, Ace Ventura. Serano reminded me that the entire plot of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective turns on the “reveal” of a transgender woman. At the movie’s climax, Ace outs a trans woman for the “fake” that she is — literally spinning her around to show her tucked genitals — at which he and everyone else vomits profusely, including Dan Marino and the Dolphins’ mascot, a dolphin.

I recalled other transphobic — specifically transmisogynist — cultural artifacts that attracted me when I was younger, realizing in fact that so much of the comedy I loved growing up hinged on the joke of crossdressing: Mrs. Doubtfire, Monty Python, Little Britain. Also the joke of gender non-conformity, in the case of It’s Pat. I probably loved these things both because they brought up the topic of gender, which did greatly interest me, and because they shamed me, bullied me away from acknowledging my own truth.

Sometimes I would be forced to leave the apartment. I’d put on new clothes, ones that made me feel a flutter of pride. Friends wouldn’t recognize me. Strangers would stare. Or they’d call me “sir” and I’d be stunned but also unsure whether I wanted to correct them. I also felt that these were the first times I’d ever dared to show myself honestly to the world.

Sometimes I’d run into someone I knew — a girl from back home, a guy from grad school. I’d see them avoid my eyes, sure that they didn’t know me. I’d feel hurt, and then I’d see them realize, say something like, “You got a haircut.”

Sometimes I’d have to attend some event or occasion I hadn’t since the change, like a job interview or funeral. Attempting to dress, I’d fall apart, totally lose nerve. Rob would stand with me, tie my tie, wipe my tears. At that funeral, some relatives didn’t recognize me, and others thought I was my brother. But then they did see it was me.

“Sandy!” they said. After, I’d feel a supreme relief, like at least now they know, even if they don’t get it.

I worked up all the courage I had and made an appointment at an actual barbershop. For years I’d gone to a salon that smelled like chardonnay and chemicals, pretended the whole time I wasn’t having a panic attack.

In the barbershop the men didn’t seem to notice me. I got the cut I wanted. I exited feeling something like pride, rubbing the buzz on the back of my neck. Walking through the park on my way home, I stopped and did something I’d never much been tempted to do before, which was post a selfie. I shook with nerves.

I never used to picture myself in middle or old age, but now I do. That began happening after I came out. Another new thing I started to feel was that I love myself. Not just how I look, my haircut, my style, though I do love those things. I now love my body itself to an extent I’d never have imagined was possible. Before I hated everything about me, body included, totally, powerfully, if for reasons I couldn’t quite spell out.

Presenting myself now, in a way that’s honest about how I’ve always mentally straddled the gender divide, I also feel the cruelty of gender-segregated spaces more sharply. I hate the TSA and avoid changing rooms. Cis women in bathrooms sometimes look shocked or horrified when they see me, or they make frowning remarks (like “This the men’s?”). I contemplate going into men’s rooms but frankly, I’m too scared of men. If I’m being honest, I avoid being in public still, as much as I can.

These days, I’m called “sir” and “ma’am” with equal frequency. Sometimes people think I’m male at first and then realize I’m not, usually when I talk, and sometimes I then see a wild anger in them. In those moments, I feel my vulnerability. Though in other senses I feel safer; I am no longer constantly catcalled, as I was before — that drumbeat of male violence, muffled. All the time I feel how arbitrary these categories are. All the time, I know this is all just about power.

Some who see me now are excited about my apparent difference. In a restaurant, a waitress ran over, grinning, nearly shouting, “What are you?”

I’m 31 now, and living a life that a few years ago I couldn’t have imagined. My book’s paperback calls me Sandy and they/them. Rob and I married and moved to an old farmhouse in the country. I now have two floors of rooms to tidy. I often wander delightedly for hours, scrubbing and straightening and vacuuming cat fur and flies and once, with a whoosh — to my great surprise — the skeleton of a baby mouse.

Rob and I write out our chores on a big spool of brown paper by the fridge, to ensure we contribute evenly. I am proud of us, of him, for how we’ve managed to share the responsibilities of maintaining this home. And yet, through all this change, a constant remains, bulging with wires and papers and who knows what else, the one place I’ve accepted I’ll never tidy: his nightstand.

#marie kindo #gender #queer #trans #culture #new #news

82 notes · View notes

easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Text

Bon Appétit Editor-in-Chief Adam Rapoport Resigns Following Allegations of Racist Culture [Updated]

Photo by Jared Siskin/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images

A 2013 photo of Rapoport in brownface, which resurfaced on Twitter, is one of multiple incidents of racism surrounding the food publication, sparking a wide call for his resignation

Bon Appetit editor-in-chief Adam Rapoport has resigned his position after several Bon Appetit staff members and freelance contributors publicly called for his resignation on Monday, alleging that a racist culture permeated throughout the brand.

Among the allegations from current staffers came from editor Sohla El-Waylly, who posted in her Instagram stories that she has been used in front of the camera “as a display of diversity,” but, unlike white employees, has never been compensated for on-camera appearances. In a statement to Variety, Conde Nast denied that people of color appeared in videos unpaid, but several other BA staffers replied in solidarity, some noting they would refuse to appear in any future videos until BIPOC staffers received equal pay and compensation for video work.

The callouts came after food and drinks writer Tammie Teclemariam unearthed a 2013 Instagram photo, originally posted by Rapoport’s wife Simone Shubuck, that shows the couple seemingly in brownface. The image, which has since been taken down from Shubuck’s Instagram account (but was up as of this morning) featured the caption “me and my papi” and the hashtag “boricua.”

In a post on his personal Instagram account, Rapoport announced his departure:

“I am stepping down as editor in chief of Bon Appetit to reflect on the work I need to do as a human being and to allow Bon Appetit to get to a better place. From an extremely ill-conceived Halloween costume 16 years ago to my blind spots as an editor, I’ve not championed an inclusive vision. And ultimately, it’s been at the expense of Bon Appetit and its staff, as well as our readers. They all deserve better. The staff has been working so hard to evolve the brand in a positive, more diverse direction. I will do all I can to support that work, but I am not the one to lead that work. I am deeply sorry for my failings and to the position in which I put the editors of BA. Thank you.”

I do not know why Adam Rapoport simply doesn’t write about Puerto Rican food for @bonappetit himself!!! https://t.co/rW0k5tjMoS pic.twitter.com/odZnFLz2gd

— chez tammie (@tammieetc) June 8, 2020

When the photo surfaced on social media this morning, BA’s own staffers and contributors were quick to speak out publicly. “As a BA contributor, I can’t stay silent on this,” tweeted star food writer Priya Krishna. This is fucked up plain and simple. It erases the work the BIPOC on staff have long been doing, behind the scenes. I plan to do everything in my power to hold the EIC, and systems that hold up actions like this, accountable.”

BA’s research director Joseph Hernandez tweeted, “I’m likely courting internal reprimand, but I’m appalled and insulted by the EIC’s choice to embrace brownface in the photo making the rounds. I’ve spent my career celebrating Black, Latinx, Indigenous, Asian, and POC voices in food, and this feels like an erasure of that work.”

He added, “It also feels like an erasure of the hard work done by those on staff who are doing the behind-the-scenes, silent labor of educating and advocating for progressive change.”

It also feels like an erasure of the hard work done by those on staff who are doing the behind-the-scenes, silent labor of educating and advocating for progressive change.

— Joseph Hernandez (@joeybear85) June 8, 2020

BA’s Jesse Sparks also stressed the immense pressure put on people of color in the newsroom.

I just— I'm furious and exhausted. My whole point for being at this brand has been to uplift and celebrate the work of BIPOC and Queer folx. I've put up with a lot of shit because it was more important to me that I could help other people get the recognition they deserved. https://t.co/GswjEZJLDW

— Jesse Sparks (@JesseASparks) June 8, 2020

In a Twitter thread, former BA photographer Alex Lau explained that one of the many reasons he left the publication was the ways “white leadership refused to make changes that my BIPOC coworkers and I constantly pushed for.”

yes, I left BA for multiple reasons, but one of the main reasons was that white leadership refused to make changes that my BIPOC coworkers and I constantly pushed for.

— Alex Lau (@iamnotalexlau) June 8, 2020

The backlash against BA’s company culture and Rapoport’s role as editor-in-chief mounted rapidly.

Along with many colleagues, I’ve been dissatisfied with the milquetoast statements floating around. After speaking with a few peers, I wrote a resignation letter primer. Bc folks need help. https://t.co/tUr0h62pYi

— o s a y i (@osayiendolyn) June 8, 2020

The resurfacing of Rapaport’s photo and discussion of race within the publication comes following an alleged direct message exchange between Rapaport and writer Illyanna Maisonet, which Maisonet shared publicly on Twitter.

Some of you have asked about what happened with @bonappetit Nice of you to ask. I got a nice letter from #AdamRapoport this morning. Here is the series of IG DMs we shared moments ago. A montage... pic.twitter.com/ueRP5i91vx

— illyanna Maisonet (@eatgordaeat) June 6, 2020

BA has previously come under fire for the overwhelming whiteness of its popular test kitchen, and the callouts have been buoyed by Rapoport’s latest newsletter, headlined “Food Has Always Been Political.” In it, he writes, “In recent years, we at BA have been reckoning with our blind spots when it comes to race. We still have work to do... So, as an editor, the question I’m now asking our team is how do we locate the intersection of food and politics in this current moment? And how can we report on this convergence in a way that is engaging and useful to our millions of readers?”

Part of the answer, as many food writers and BA staffers past and present are now sharing on social media, are that it should not take the ongoing murder of black people by the state for newsrooms to finally look inward and make changes that are well past due. That it shouldn’t take employees risking their jobs by speaking publicly — that there is no more room for white bosses and editors to place the responsibility of fixing structural racism in the industry on BIPOC. And that racism and inequity is not fixed by tepid letters from the editor or by publicizing diversity initiatives while failing to take steps internally so that black and brown people feel safe and supported.

Eater has reached out to Adam Rapoport and Condé Nast for comment on both the photo and the ongoing accusations of racism within the publication. We will update if and when they respond.

UPDATE, June 8, 4:50 p.m. PST: This post was updated to reflect that Rapoport has resigned.

Disclaimer: Multiple people named in this story are past or current Eater staffers or contributors.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3hi1pPs https://ift.tt/2AOjHa8

Photo by Jared Siskin/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images

A 2013 photo of Rapoport in brownface, which resurfaced on Twitter, is one of multiple incidents of racism surrounding the food publication, sparking a wide call for his resignation

In a post on his personal Instagram account, Rapoport announced his departure:

I do not know why Adam Rapoport simply doesn’t write about Puerto Rican food for @bonappetit himself!!! https://t.co/rW0k5tjMoS pic.twitter.com/odZnFLz2gd

— chez tammie (@tammieetc) June 8, 2020

He added, “It also feels like an erasure of the hard work done by those on staff who are doing the behind-the-scenes, silent labor of educating and advocating for progressive change.”

It also feels like an erasure of the hard work done by those on staff who are doing the behind-the-scenes, silent labor of educating and advocating for progressive change.

— Joseph Hernandez (@joeybear85) June 8, 2020

BA’s Jesse Sparks also stressed the immense pressure put on people of color in the newsroom.

— Jesse Sparks (@JesseASparks) June 8, 2020

yes, I left BA for multiple reasons, but one of the main reasons was that white leadership refused to make changes that my BIPOC coworkers and I constantly pushed for.

— Alex Lau (@iamnotalexlau) June 8, 2020

The backlash against BA’s company culture and Rapoport’s role as editor-in-chief mounted rapidly.

— o s a y i (@osayiendolyn) June 8, 2020

— illyanna Maisonet (@eatgordaeat) June 6, 2020

Eater has reached out to Adam Rapoport and Condé Nast for comment on both the photo and the ongoing accusations of racism within the publication. We will update if and when they respond.

UPDATE, June 8, 4:50 p.m. PST: This post was updated to reflect that Rapoport has resigned.

Disclaimer: Multiple people named in this story are past or current Eater staffers or contributors.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3hi1pPs via Blogger https://ift.tt/3dJq4u4

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

0 notes

dusty-cookie · 7 years

Text

Dance With The Devil

Pairing: Comic!Negan X Reader

Word Count: 5347

Warnings: Negan’s potty mouth (Duh!), Smut (messy and at times awkward), Religious Themes (used in a sexual way, so if that’s not your cup of tea, don’t read it)

This my first time writing smut. The handcuff cop-out in Through The Valley doesn’t count. So please be gentle.

Dedicated to @217fanfic because she gave me the idea and is of course an overall awesome person.

Summer had ended and with the days getting shorter and the weather turning colder and wetter, the residents of The Sanctuary were slowly developing what could only be described as a bad bout of cabin fever. The supply rooms were full thanks to Negan’s deals with other communities and some very talented scavengers, but being confined to the many grey walls of the dreary factory was turning even the mellowest Saviors into irritable assholes.

You had to break up three fights over the course of the last week alone and you had been thankful that a couple of Negan’s lieutenants had always been nearby whenever someone had started throwing dishes or fists in the cafeteria.

Your position as chef and head of the kitchen staff meant that you came face to face with your intimidating leader on at least a weekly basis to discuss meal plans, schedules and supplies and you had developed something you called friendship and he called “the calm before the fuck”. The truth was, you had a solid crush on the giant man with the baseball bat, but while you were flattered by his incessant attempts to get into your pants, you were determined that the next time he set foot into your kitchen, you would discuss the current situation with him.

The opportunity came soon enough and before Negan could even open his mouth, you had already started ranting.

“Things are getting out of hand Negan. People are bored and antsy. We have five broken glasses and two broken noses and I’m getting sick and tired of people being jerks in my cafeteria every day. Patricia broke down crying yesterday, because Marcus yelled at her for being too slow. We have to do something to distract people from jumping at each other’s throats all the time.”

“What do you suggest I fucking do, babe? Hiking trip? Arts and fucking crafts projects? Orgy?” he wiggled his eyebrows at you with that last part.

You rolled your eyes and sighed “Well, Carson has been keeping a calendar, right? We’re well into November now, but with the weather being so bad and it getting dark so early, I thought maybe we could do a Halloween party. People would be busy preparing decorations and their costumes, I could do some great food, we’ve got tons of booze in the supply rooms… It would be fun.”

Negan crossed his arms and thought about it for a moment. “Halloween party, huh? You know, that’s actually a good fucking idea. It would take people’s minds off things for a while AND I’d get to see all the girls in sexy costumes. Including you.”

You didn’t know why he was so keen on seeing you or anyone else in a short skirt when he had his bedroom full of scantily clad women, but, as you had done so many times before when talking to Negan, you decided not to discuss or even mention the five elephants in the room that were his “wives”. You were happy that he wasn’t opposed to the idea of a bit of spooky fun to lighten the mood in The Sanctuary, so you thanked him enthusiastically with a smile and a hug and went to work immediately to plan the food for the party.

When that same night Negan announced that The Sanctuary would host a Halloween party the following weekend, he was greeted by a cheering crowd and the children were especially excited about the idea. Seeing your leader on the metal walkway above the cafeteria, grinning down at you, your heart skipped a beat and you blushed furiously. You scolded yourself for having these thoughts about your boss, who was more than unavailable in your eyes and you turned to flee into the kitchen.

One thing there was an abundance of in the apocalypse in terms of food items was gelatin. It had an indefinite shelf life and looters tended to overlook it in favour of other stuff, but since your fearless leader was a bit of a hoarder when it came to supplies, hundreds upon hundreds of packs of gelatin powder had ended up in your kitchen. It used to annoy the shit out of you whenever a scavenging team would bring back even more of it, especially if it was the unflavoured kind that you couldn’t use for desserts, but now you were more than grateful for it. It meant you could create a whole arsenal of disgusting stuff for the party and the week leading up to the event was spent by you and your staff using almost all the gelatin while laughing and sharing stories about past Halloweens, when seeing a zombie meant bad makeup and beer pong and not a substantial threat to your life.

You used straws to make worms, latex gloves for severed hands and ping pong balls cut in half for eyeballs, the latter to the dismay of a very disgruntled Negan, who feared to run out of equipment for his favorite past time. You prepared tons of finger food and a huge bowl of punch which included the jello eyeballs and some of the women in Sanctuary spent the whole week sewing costumes and making decorations.

Negan had somehow developed a bit of an obsession with what you would be wearing for the party and any time you two ran into each other, which seemed to happen more frequently these days, he would not stop badgering you about your costume.

“Come on, babe, just tell me what it’s going to be. I swear I won’t tell anyone, I just want something for my spank bank. Sexy maid? Slutty nurse? Morally ambiguous flight attendant?”

“I won’t tell you, Negan, so stop asking and get out of my kitchen.”

“But I wanna know!” he whined. “I’ll even tell you my costume if you tell me yours. I bet it’s going to set your fucking panties on fire.”

“I don’t want to know your costume, I want it to be a surprise. Now shoo!” you waved your hands in the direction of the doors and Negan finally sauntered out in defeat.

It was true that you wanted to be surprised by what your leader had come up with for the party, but most of all, you wanted to see his reaction when he saw you in your costume for the first time. You had thought long and hard about what you could transform into with the limited accessories available to you during the end of the world. When the word “angel” came into your mind, the irony almost made you laugh.

Your choice was above all practical. There were currently three wedding dresses in inventory, one of which was perfect for your size and purposes and making wings out of cardboard was easy enough. But you couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit inappropriate, dressing up as a heavenly creature in a world destroyed by the undead. In the end you pushed these thoughts away. You deserved to feel beautiful for one night. The purpose of the party was to let everyone forget about their sorrows and the dangers of the world for a couple of hours and that was exactly what you were going to do.

The day of the party had finally come and everyone from the smallest child to the old man responsible for the door were on their feet, getting themselves and the cafeteria ready for the party. Some people carved pumpkins, some decorated the hall with streamers, candles, crafted skeletons and bats. The kitchen staff made some last minute preparations to the drinks and food and put everything on a large buffet table and Dwight set up the stereo system and a disco ball. Negan had ordered for the generators to run for the party, something usually reserved for the chance of a hot shower not more than once a week, or in the case of a medical emergency when the doctor needed heavy equipment to save someone’s life.

It was less than an hour until the official start of the party, when one your staff members practically chased you out of the cafeteria, where you had been busy helping. Everyone else had already had a chance to change into their costumes, but you were still in your jeans and shirt, your hair in a messy bun and your face sweaty from carrying dishes and pushing tables against the walls.

You ran into your room and took the scrunchy out of your hair to let it fall down your back and sat down in front of the small mirror on your desk. Luckily you had remembered to put rollers into your hair last night and you took a moment to admire the small ringlets now framing your face, before starting on your makeup. You didn’t want anything too fancy, not that you had the time left for that, anyway. You just covered some blemishes, put on some mascara and a soft-colored lipstick, before reaching for a small jar for your grand finale. A little bit of glitter in your hair and on your shoulders and cleavage, to give people –and especially a certain someone- something to look at.

You changed into the sleeveless A-line wedding dress, slipped the wings onto your back, held in place by strips of white fabric and took one last look in the mirror, turning this way and that to get a full picture of how you looked.

The party was about to start and you decided that your costume, hair and makeup were not too shabby, so you made your way back down to the cafeteria, where you were greeted by the oohs and aahs of your friends and colleagues. Everyone was busy admiring the decorations and costumes. You shared a couple of jokes with Dwight, who was self-deprecatingly dressed as the Phantom of the Opera and thought to yourself that Carson’s knight costume looked like a potato sack. The wives were giggling in a corner, none of them looking any different from their usual daily attire, in your opinion, if it weren’t for the occasional bunny or kitty ears.

You didn’t know whether you should be glad that you opted for a more unusual costume, or be disappointed since, surely, Negan wouldn’t spare two glances at you with all this naked flesh right in front of him.

The only person still missing was your fearless leader himself. He was no doubt making people wait to ensure a big entrance and, sure enough, a couple of minutes later heavy footsteps were coming from the walkway and the hall fell silent.

The first thing you noticed was that he was wearing his usual biker boots and dark grey pants and you feared for a moment that he had changed his mind and decided not to come in a costume. But then your eyes wandered further up and your eyes widened when you saw that not only was Negan half-naked, but he had put red paint on his entire upper body, from his waistband to the widow’s peak that was his hairline. The look was completed by two shiny black horns attached to his forehead and instead of Lucille, he was holding a huge pitchfork in his right hand.

The effect on the crowd was instantaneous. Most gasped or started whispering to each other and some of his lieutenants rolled their eyes, probably at the implications of their boss looking down at them, dressed as the devil. Your own thoughts went straight down the gutter at the sight of Negan’s naked torso with his abs and arm muscles accentuated by the red paint and him wearing a cheeky grin and those leather gloves which you were sure would feel heavenly on your naked skin.

Speaking of heavenly, someone on your left whispered to you “Angel and devil? Did you two coordinate your costumes?” but you were too occupied imagining running your hands all over Negan’s naked chest and keeping yourself from blushing and sweating too much. Your costume suddenly felt too tight and the glitter on your body was starting to itch.

You were brought back to reality by the object of your dirty thoughts addressing the people below him:

“Saviors! Welcome to the first annual Halloween party here at The Sanctuary. I can see that each and every one of you has put a lot of fucking effort into the decorations and their costumes. You all look really motherfucking nice! Now I want you all to enjoy some nice food and drinks, dance and be fucking merry. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he winked at them, “Let’s get this fucking party started!”

The crowd around you cheered and someone started the music. People went to grab food, formed groups to chat and some even went straight to the small area that served as a dancefloor, to release some of the pent-up energy that had caused all those fights over the last couple of weeks.

You, on the other hand, made a beeline for the punch bowl to pour yourself a desperately needed glass of liquor. You took a big gulp of the sweet drink and nearly spat it all back out when you heard a familiar voice behind you:

“So I guess it’s true what they fucking say. Opposites really do attract.”

You swallowed your drink and turned around, nearly bumping into a broad, hairy and red chest. You strained your neck looking up at Negan, who grinned down at you and you noticed how the red makeup made his dark brown eyes look almost black. Talk about devilishly handsome. You were momentarily speechless and so he continued:

“You know I was kind of hoping to see some ass and tits from you tonight, but I have to say, this is pretty fucking nice to look at, too.”

You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and smiled up at him:

“Thanks. Uhm… you look very good, too.”

“You fucking like it?” he spread out his arms, nearly impaling Dwight with his pitchfork, who had just come up to the punch bowl to get a drink, “Oh fuck, sorry Dwight,” Negan laughed and turned back to you and lowered his voice, “You know… I think this glitter all over you would look pretty fucking awesome mixed with my red.”

You blushed for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Well, that would be quite the unholy union, wouldn’t it? But I don’t fraternize with just any old demon, you have to put some effort into it.”

You cringed a little at your cheesy attempt at flirting, but judging from the devious grin creeping up on your leader’s face, it seemed to have the desired effect.

“Challenge fucking accepted! Let’s start with another drink and then some food.” He took your cup and you nearly squeaked when the leather gloves touched your hand. You really had to get a hold of yourself before someone noticed the level of lewdness with which you were looking at him, you thought as Negan poured drinks for the both of you. Out of the corner of your eyes you noticed the wives looking none too pleased about the fact that their ‘dear husband’ hadn’t given them any kind of attention so far.

Negan gave you the cup of punch and raised his own for a toast: “To beautiful angels and horny devils! Get it? Horny?” You laughed with him and answered “To a night full of sinners and saints!” and you clinked glasses.

The next couple of hours were spent drinking, eating, talking and laughing. You got to socialize with a lot of people, both friends and even some you haven’t had the chance to get to know before. Negan never left your side for much longer than it took to refill a cup or a plate and when the party finally died down and people were starting to leave, your head was spinning from both the alcohol and the view of his half-naked body you got to enjoy all night.

“I should probably get to bed, too,” you giggled, followed by a hiccup. “Oops, yep. Definitely time to go.”

Negan put a gloved hand on the exposed upper part of your back and put his lips dangerously close to your ear. The resulting shiver this elicited from you was obviously not lost on him, since he chuckled darkly, before whispering to you: “You want to go to bed all alone? And who is going to take care of that fucking fountain between your legs, angel? Don’t think I didn’t fucking notice the way you were eye-fucking me all night. And just in case I haven’t been fucking clear before, the feeling is very much fucking mutual…”

Your eyes met his and the way he looked at you, his eyes having turned impossibly dark, sent a surge of desire right to your core.

“Wouldn’t you rather spend the night with your wives? I’m sure they’ve been missing you all night.” you couldn’t help but finally ask. You knew you were overthinking things. It was one of your big flaws. But the wives had been bothering you ever since Negan had started to show an interest in you and no amount of alcohol could drown that nagging little voice in your head.

“I have spent all fucking night with you. When did you get the impression that I want to fuck anyone else?”

You took a deep breath to brace yourself. The worrywart in you still insisted that it was a bad idea, but fuck it… just for tonight you could drown your concerns in too much alcohol and in the embrace of the man you had been lusting over ever since you had arrived at The Sanctuary all these months ago. Maybe this would get him out of your system.

You took his hand and gently tugged to steer him in the direction of the stairs. His smile lit up the dark cafeteria and you were glad that most people had already left. You had no doubt that there would be rumours creeping through the halls of the factory like spiders come morning. But that was another voice you successfully silenced while making your way to your room on the third floor. When you were finally standing in front of your door and were just about to enter, you suddenly felt two hands on your waist and Negan burying his nose in your hair and he murmured “You know, I’ve been waiting a long fucking time for this, but if you feel too uncomfortable with fucking your boss, just fucking say it now. We’re both a little drunk, but I’m not some fucking asshole who takes advantage of a woman when she’s not fully of sound fucking mind.”

If you hadn’t been a puddle of lust before, Negan making sure of your consent certainly did the trick. You put your much smaller hand over his and brought them to rest over your stomach.

“I’m good. I want this.”

That was all he needed to hear and his mouth latched onto your neck with a low growl, while he fumbled with the doorknob. The door opened and you both almost fell into your small room. Negan’s pitchfork clattered to the floor and you both laughed at your clumsiness and turned to each other to finally touch what had been waiting to be touched all night. Negan’s eyes suddenly widened when he looked at your neck where he had sucked at the skin only seconds before. “What? Did you give me a hickey?” you asked while touching the spot and your fingers came back red. In your tipsy state you thought for a moment that you were bleeding and you frowned, but then you realized that it was just the red paint from Negan. You looked back up at him and giggled and he stared at you in confusion:

“What? What is it?”

You were full on laughing now: “I guess bodily fluids aren’t the only thing we’re going to exchange tonight. We’re rubbing off on each other. Your mouth is full of glitter.”

He brought a finger to his lips and swiped over them to have a look.

“Huh. Well… let’s see who can make the other dirtier.”

He reached for you, but you grasped his hands before he could put them anywhere: “Hold on. Don’t get any paint on the dress. I only borrowed it from inventory, I have to return it tomorrow.”

His grin was back in full force now “I guess that means we have to get you out of that thing real fucking quick, then.”

You chuckled and turned around so he could help you with the zipper and you did your best to gracefully shimmy out of the satin gown and slip out of your shoes, despite feeling a little awkward by the unexpected striptease you had to perform. It wasn’t that you felt bad about being naked in front of him, but this was a sort of foreplay you hadn’t experienced before. You slowly turned back to face him again, now only clad in a pair of white lace panties and he stared at you, his gaze focusing on your breasts unabashedly.

“Fuck babe… if all angels looked like you, there would be a fuck-ton more of very fucking religious people out there.”

Your eyes met and your smile was all it took for him to finally pounce on you. His hands grabbed your face and his mouth came crashing down on your own. You held onto his waist, fearing you might fall from the sudden rush of blood to your head. He pressed his body to yours and you couldn’t get enough of the heat radiating from him and the feeling of his muscles against your breasts and under your fingers, which were now roaming all over his back. The low moan that escaped his lips told you that he didn’t mind when you used your nails on his shoulders and you opened your mouth to let his tongue meet yours.

His own hands were slowly wandering down your neck and over your shoulders and you gasped when they arrived at your breasts, his teeth and tongue following the path his palms had made. He nipped and licked at one of your nipples, while his fingers attended to the other and you let your head fall back and closed your eyes, your breathing becoming quicker and your hands stroking the nape of his neck to encourage Negan further. You hadn’t even realized that you were both slowly walking towards your bed, until the back of your legs hit the frame and you fell down on the mattress, with Negan on top of you. You both laughed and kissed again, until Negan sat up to open his belt and pants.

“Looks like I’m winning so far. You’re almost as fucking devilishly red as I am.” he grinned.

“Oh yeah? Your face looks like you made out with a unicorn.” you giggled and he wiped his hand over his face. “Hey that’s cheating!” you exclaimed while he stripped out of his boots and pants and you were happy to see that the size and girth of his dick was very much proportional to the rest of his body.

“All is fucking fair in love and war and this is a little bit of both.” He smirked and was about to take off his gloves when you took his hands and put them on your cheeks and kissed both his wrists. “Keep them on.” you said looking up to him and he mumbled “Kinky little angel.” against your lips, as he kissed you again.

He slid down your body again, kissing, biting and licking a trail from your chin, down your neck, to your breasts, where he spent some more time with his mouth and his hands before going even further down, taking a quick detour to your hips on his way to the center of your ever increasing lust.

The friction created from your bodies rubbing together was starting to cause all the glitter and paint to feel more and more itchy against your skin and as Negan started to use that devious tongue that you liked so much on your clit, you realized that getting your pussy stained red and full of glitter probably wasn’t a very good idea. You tugged on his hair to get him to come back up from exploring your folds and he luckily complied without hesitation. You weren’t really interested in an extended foreplay, anyway, after having waited so long to finally have your leader in your bed.

When he was level with your face again, you faintly registered that the horns had come off at some point during his trip down south, but you were immediately distracted by his pouting: “But you’re so wet and you taste so fucking good, angel.”

You responded to his whining with a bite to his neck and with a hand shoved between his legs to grab his length and pump it a couple of times. You were rewarded with a loud groan that you caught with your mouth over his. “I want you inside of me. Now!” you whispered into his ear and, after swallowing hard and clenching his jaw, he finally obliged and buried himself inside of you in one quick stroke. You both moaned loudly and Negan laid his head into the crook of your neck for a moment and kept almost perfectly still, his breathing ragged and his shoulders twitching slightly.

After a couple of seconds of both of you calming down your thoughts and your breathing, Negan pressed his forehead against yours and started to slowly roll his hips. His steady thrusts sent waves of pleasure through your entire body and seeing him squeezing his eyes shut and hearing the string of profanities that escaped his lips between kissing you almost made you come way too soon. You wanted to savour this moment, to ride it out until you couldn’t take any more, but having the object of your desire fucking you and being so vocal about how much he enjoyed it was enough to fill every fibre of your body with ecstasy. You had always loved when men were loud during sex and this particular specimen didn’t hold back one bit.

What kept you from having an early orgasm was the still uncomfortable feeling of the glitter and paint particles between you and Negan that made your body itchier by the second as the sweat and friction increased. You wondered why he didn’t show any signs of wanting to scratch his chest and belly as much as you did, but a particularly loud exclamation of “Oh fuck!” from him, followed by his mouth sucking in one of your nipples made you think that maybe he was already too far gone to notice the mess you two were making.

You tried to focus on the feeling of his hard dick sliding in and out of you and on the beautiful sounds he was making, but it was no use. You gently pushed him off of you until he kneeled in front of you and you joined him there to kiss him some more and to slide your hands over his broad chest. He looked at you questioningly, so to make sure he didn’t think like he had done anything wrong, you unceremoniously turned around on your hands and knees and presented your backside to him. Negan immediately grabbed your ass and chuckled “Hot fucking damn, I like it when a girl knows what she wants.”

Turning your head to grin back at him, you saw that he had wrapped one hand around his slick member to guide it back to your entrance. You moaned when he started teasing your clit by rubbing himself over it. You were already missing the feeling of being filled and luckily he decided to go back to just that and thrust back inside you, giving you another groan and then another as he increased the speed.

With the itching gone, you could now concentrate on every stroke, every sound he made and all the smells of sweat and sex that filled your nose. He bent down to bite your neck and grope your breasts and you could hear his breathing become more erratic. “Oh God! Oh fuck babe, I’m so fucking close.” he panted close to your ear and all you could answer was “Good, me too.” as you put your hand between your legs to rub the small nub there just the way you knew would make you come.

Negan obviously took your reply and the increase in volume and frequency of the sounds you were making as an invitation to fuck you even harder and deeper. It didn’t take long until you could feel him shudder during three final thrusts and his strangled moans of “Fuck! Fuck! Oh fuck!” were all it took to send you over the edge, as well. You felt your walls contracting around him and an overwhelming heat and pressure inside of you until you exploded in a wave of pleasure, which caused you to cry out a couple of profanities of your own, together with his name.

You collapsed onto the bed with him on top of you, both of you breathing hard. A dreamy smile played on your lips as he moved to lie on his back and you turned around to look at him. Negan was grinning like the cat that caught the canary and you had no doubt that he was taking the metaphor quite literally.

“That was pretty fucking awesome, angel.”

“Yeah, it was. Apart from the mess we made.” you looked at the sheets and down Negan’s and your own body, all of which were covered in red stains and a faint dusting of glitter.

“Oh shit. Sorry about that. I’ll get you some new sheets from inventory tomorrow. Next time we should probably do this without the fucking masquerade.”

You looked amused when your eyes found his. “Next time, huh?”

He chuckled “Don’t play fucking coy with me now. I know you enjoyed this just as much as I did.” he got up and reached for his clothes.

You suddenly felt a little sad when you saw him preparing to leave. “You uhm… you can stay if you want. I don’t mind.”

He had already put on his pants and was stepping into his boots as he answered “Maybe next time, babe. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t fucking mind being seen coming from your room, but I’d rather have the traditional Halloween walk-of-shame now instead of in the morning. I’m pretty fucking sure people don’t want to see a half-naked devil running through the halls just before they’re about to have fucking breakfast.”

You laughed, but the sting of rejection remained. Had he really enjoyed himself enough to warrant a repetition of tonight’s events? Or would you become just another tally mark on his not-so-proverbial bedpost? Were you overthinking things again? Your disappointment must have shown on your face, because he sat back down next to you and kissed the spot just under your ear which you had grown to enjoy so much during sex with him and which made you close your eyes again in pleasure.

“Hey… this really was fucking awesome. I’ll talk to you soon, alright? And don’t let anything burn in the kitchen from thinking about me and my amazing fucking dick too much.”

You giggled and he stood up to take the pitchfork and opened the door, looking very much like a giant demon in the darkness.

“Good night, angel. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Negan.” you answered just before the door shut behind him with a soft click. You lied back on your bed and buried your head in your pillow. His lingering scent filled your senses as you slowly descended into a fitful sleep, your dreams filled with angels, dancing with devils.

#negan #comicnegan>#comic negan #negan fanfic #negan fanfiction #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #negan x reader #negan x you #negan smut

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instantdeerlover · 4 years

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Bon Appétit Editor-in-Chief Adam Rapoport Resigns Following Allegations of Racist Culture [Updated] added to Google Docs

Bon Appétit Editor-in-Chief Adam Rapoport Resigns Following Allegations of Racist Culture [Updated]

Photo by Jared Siskin/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images

A 2013 photo of Rapoport in brownface, which resurfaced on Twitter, is one of multiple incidents of racism surrounding the food publication, sparking a wide call for his resignation

In a post on his personal Instagram account, Rapoport announced his departure:

I do not know why Adam Rapoport simply doesn’t write about Puerto Rican food for @bonappetit himself!!! https://t.co/rW0k5tjMoS pic.twitter.com/odZnFLz2gd

— chez tammie (@tammieetc) June 8, 2020

He added, “It also feels like an erasure of the hard work done by those on staff who are doing the behind-the-scenes, silent labor of educating and advocating for progressive change.”

It also feels like an erasure of the hard work done by those on staff who are doing the behind-the-scenes, silent labor of educating and advocating for progressive change.

— Joseph Hernandez (@joeybear85) June 8, 2020

BA’s Jesse Sparks also stressed the immense pressure put on people of color in the newsroom.

— Jesse Sparks (@JesseASparks) June 8, 2020

yes, I left BA for multiple reasons, but one of the main reasons was that white leadership refused to make changes that my BIPOC coworkers and I constantly pushed for.

— Alex Lau (@iamnotalexlau) June 8, 2020

The backlash against BA’s company culture and Rapoport’s role as editor-in-chief mounted rapidly.

— o s a y i (@osayiendolyn) June 8, 2020

— illyanna Maisonet (@eatgordaeat) June 6, 2020

Eater has reached out to Adam Rapoport and Condé Nast for comment on both the photo and the ongoing accusations of racism within the publication. We will update if and when they respond.

UPDATE, June 8, 4:50 p.m. PST: This post was updated to reflect that Rapoport has resigned.

Disclaimer: Multiple people named in this story are past or current Eater staffers or contributors.

via Eater - All https://www.eater.com/2020/6/8/21284390/bon-appetit-adam-rapoport-resign-racism-brownface-photo

Created June 9, 2020 at 07:26AM /huong sen View Google Doc Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xa6sRugRZk4MDSyctcqusGYBv1lXYkrF

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newstechreviews · 4 years

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Millennials are gaining power at all levels of American government: Enter, Katie Hill. Millennials are navigating a rapidly shifting landscape of technology, sex, and power: Exit, Katie Hill.

Last year, Hill was one of twenty millennials, most of them women, who won seats in Congress, increasing the generation’s representation sixfold in one cycle and giving voice to the second-largest bloc of eligible voters. Last night, she resigned after nude pictures of her “throuple” relationship with a female campaign staffer were released online without her consent, and after she came under a House Ethics investigation for an alleged relationship with a male legislative staffer.

Hill’s case lands smack in the middle of the three-way intersection between tech, sex, and power: Technology has changed sex; sex has changed power; and power is newly vulnerable to strains of disgrace that didn’t exist a decade ago. Technology provides new and humiliating ways to document sexual encounters, and all sexual encounters—especially when they involve a public figure—are now subjected to brutal public dissection. Hill may be the first millennial lawmaker to have to grapple with this particularly thorny 21st century code of conduct, but she won’t be the last.

(Hill, who is openly bisexual, admits to the relationship with the female campaign staffer. She denies the relationship with the male legislative aide, and has accused her “abusive” husband of orchestrating the smear campaign amidst their divorce.)

Since millennials live most of their lives online, it’s only natural that their sex lives have gone digital as well, and Hill was no exception. One 2015 study found that, like Hill, 82% of adults had sexted in the past year, mostly with their partners in a committed relationship. But all those sexual messages can be easily weaponized by disgruntled exes or abusers: a 2016 study from the journal Data & Society found that 1 in 25 Americans—roughly 10.4 million people—have either had their photos posted without their consent or else had someone threaten to do so. For younger women, that figure rose to 1 in 10.

The weaponization of nudes is a 21st century sex crime, one that state and federal officials have done little to address. Hill’s nudes, including one of her combing her campaign staffer’s hair while naked, were leaked to a conservative blog and to the Daily Mail, which forced Hill to admit to the affair and apologize. But for millennials who are young and single in the age of dating apps, leaked nudes may soon become ubiquitous—and could eventually be considered as scandalous as a past divorce or a failed business: just another part of life. “The only person who seems to have a gripe is @repKatieHill’s soon-to-be ex,” tweeted Rep. Matt Gaetz, a millennial Republican who opposes Hill on most political issues but served with her on the Armed Services Committee. “Who among us would look perfect if every ex leaked every photo/text?”

But Hill’s case also illuminates the tricky nuances of workplace relationships in the #MeToo era. The cultural reckoning with sexual harassment has cast a pall over many workplace relationships, and especially those between a boss and a subordinate. According to the new code of ethics, consent is impossible when there is a power imbalance involved. But it’s worth noting that in Hill’s case, no victim has come forward to allege abuse.

She admitted to her relationship with her female campaign staffer Morgan Desjardines (which is unethical and worthy of resignation, but does not necessarily violate House rules because Desjardines is not on her congressional staff) and she’s been accused of having a relationship with legislative staffer Graham Kelly (which Hill has called “absolutely false,” and which would likely violate new House rules preventing sexual relationships between members and staffers), but neither Desjardines nor Kelly has has come forward to accuse her of any misconduct. There is no allegation of coercion, harassment, or abuse: just the fact of one relationship and the allegation of another. If it weren’t for the photos, Hill would likely have been able to ride this out.

Of course, that raises other thorny questions. Can a relationship still be problematic even if neither party says it is? Is the power imbalance alone enough to make it wrong? It’s against House rules to have sexual relationships with congressional staffers, which is why Hill faced an ethics probe into the alleged relationship with Kelly (which she denies.) Would she have faced the same public humiliation if she were a man? Would she have been afforded the same sympathy? “We would never be allowed to take the victim card the way she’s taken it,” said one young Congressman. “This doesn’t pass the ‘shoe on the other foot’ test.”

Ironically, the House rule that brought Hill under ethics review was new—and authored in part by Rep. Lauren Underwood, who was Hill’s D.C. roommate when she moved to D.C. Underwood told me in a previous interview that when she got to Congress, she had been surprised to learn that there was no rule against sexual relationships with staff, so she wrote one. She and Hill moved in together to save on costs of housing in DC, since the two millennial lawmakers were both short on cash compared to their older, wealthier colleagues. They posted Instagram videos of their “roomie” struggles with Ikea runs and furniture assembly, and Hill once helped Underwood put a bed frame together with duct tape. (Underwood declined to comment for this story.)

It was this image of a quintessential millennial—scrappy and resourceful, full of youthful chutzpah—that colored Hill’s arrival in Washington. She was considered a rising star in Democratic party that was cultivating a young new bench. She supported climate change legislation and LGBTQ rights, was elected without the help of corporate PACS, and used her social media to needle her political opponents. She and New York Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez teamed up during the government shutdown to track down Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell by launching a new hashtag: #WheresMitch.

But Hill’s premature departure from the Capitol also hints at a political peril that is heightened for digital natives like her. “I never claimed to be perfect,” she said in a teary video to supporters. “But I never thought my imperfection would be weaponized and used to try to destroy me.” And yet, the weaponization of imperfection is the defining threat for millennials in public life. So much more is documented for this generation, and therefore so much can be dug up. All of it—nudes, texts with old flames, old Halloween costumes, angry emails, tasteless college jokes—just waiting to be mined and distributed into the court of public opinion.

A uniquely millennial rise, before a uniquely millennial fall.

#Blogger

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itsfinancethings · 4 years

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October 28, 2019 at 11:45PM

Millennials are gaining power at all levels of American government: Enter, Katie Hill. Millennials are navigating a rapidly shifting landscape of technology, sex, and power: Exit, Katie Hill.

A uniquely millennial rise, before a uniquely millennial fall.

#IFTTT #Blogger

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holylulusworld · 4 years

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Strange Love

Request: Would you write for Dr. Strange & Reader? If yes, reader is his wife & before the accident he never respected her, even though she is a Dr like him, he belittles her, doesn't talk to her, feels ashamed. Later becoming the master, he sees her through portal that how dedicated she is & how dearly she loves him. All fluffy & maybe a passionate love making?

Pairing: Dr. Strange x Reader

Characters: Christine Palmer, Ofc

Warnings: angst, abandonment, Stephen being a douche, accidents, arranged marriage, smut, unprotected sex, comforting, fluff, remorse

A/N: Okay, this is my first-time writing smut for Dr. Strange.

“Why weren’t you at the gala with Stephen?” Christine, your best friend asks. “We were all wondering why you did not attend.” Blinking a few times, you must process what your friend just said.

“Gala, oh-yes. I had a terrible migraine and told Stephen to go alone, you know I didn’t want to ruin his night with my stupid problems,” you lie, not meeting your friend’s eyes.

“Sorry to hear,” Christine stiffens a smile, knowing you lied again to hide Stephen did not tell you about the gala last night. “How about we have a girl’s night next weekend?”

“I don’t think you should waste your precious time, Christine. Don’t you want to become the second-best?” Your husband smirks, not sparing you a glance. Anytime you talk to one of his colleagues he acts as if you do not exist.

Stephen always gives you the feeling that he belittles you, not taking your career seriously as you are only a pediatrist to him. You love working with children, saving their life’s but to Stephen, it is not the job his wife should have chosen.

Even though you are a doctor, had the best grades he acts as if you are not smart enough to talk to one of the neurosurgeons.

“I am better than you one day,” Christine smirks, not caring Stephen glares at her. “Even Y/N could beat you, but she chose the best job ever, saving the lives of our future.”

Stephen sneers, shaking his head he shrugs your talent off like it is a burden to hear someone talk about you and your work.

“Do you know how I became the best, Christine,” your friend groans and you give her a weak smile knowing Stephen will not give up.

“Enlighten me, Dr. Strange, tell me your secrets,” while you mouth a goodbye to Christine she gives you as sad smile, not liking your husband ignored you again.

“Study and practice. Years of it.” Stephen muses, not recognizing you left the table minutes ago. “You should follow my example.”

“No thanks,” huffing Christine gets up to point toward the empty chair. “I don’t want to become like you, heartless and oblivious to the only person loving you, Dr. Strange. Stop treating her like she’s a liability.”

“Listen, not that this is any of your business but I'm using trans-sectioned spinal cords to stimulate neurogenesis in the central nervous system, and she puts broken legs into a cast or cures a cold,” Stephen replies coldly.

“Why did you marry her if there is no respect or love on your side, Stephen? This is ridiculous, even for you. Everyone was missing your wife last night, everyone but you.” Christine storms off.

Arranged marriage. Stephen never thought he would end up chained to the foreign woman in his bed. He never found the time or energy to get to know you better.

When his mentor, the man at his alma mater offered him the position at the hospital if he marries you, Stephen took the chance. Now years later he still got no clue who you are, and honestly, he’s not interested in finding out.

“Do you have to go to work? Do you want me to make you breakfast?” sleepily you turn around to find Stephen half-way out of the room, not answering your question. “I get it…”

Days passed without Stephen sparing you a glance. You wanted to tell him about the new position your boss offered to you.

Knowing it’s useless to even mention anything according to you or your job you keep the good news to yourself.

Usually, you would have offered to make dinner but knowing Stephen will refuse to join, you left the house to aimless walk around town.

Panicked you run through the hallway, try to find anyone who can tell you what happened to your husband.

“Christine,” panting you run toward your friend. “What happened?”

“Stephen had an accident, it looks, bad,” she whispers, not meeting your eyes. She can hear desperate sobs leave your lips believing your husband will die.

“No, god no, Y/N. He’s not going to die, but his hands got damaged and no one is as good as your husband.”

“He will live, anything else doesn’t matter to me,” you sniffle. Christine bites her tongue, not saying what’s on her mind.

Months spend with research; expensive experimental treatment and no results took a toll on Stephen and you. He is moody, always offended when you try to help him.

When you suggested taking the job as a professor your father offered to him Stephen threw things at you calling you things which never left his lips before. Now you barely talk to him, only make sure he eats.

Before you believed Stephen will turn toward you one day, that he will need time to get to know you better. You even believed his accident could be the chance for you to prove you will stand by his side no matter what.

Stephen had other plans…

He’s gone for months now. Stephen said something about a healer and left without looking back. You took the new job to pay the debts Stephen left before running off to find a non-existent healer.

“Y/N, Sweetheart you should think about my words. Divorce Stephen,” your father tries. “He’s nothing but a burden. Not the brilliant neurosurgeon you married.”

“I don’t care if he’s a neurosurgeon or not,” your fist slams onto the table causing your father to flinch. “I love Stephen, even if he doesn’t love me back.”

Unbeknownst by you, Stephen found the person he was looking for and so much more. He found a world and powers beyond his imagination and now, as a master he inherits the powers to open portals to see how the world has changed since he disappeared.

“Don’t be a fool, daughter,” your father sighs deeply, opening a folder to show you the number of debts you will have to pay back. “I can help you if you agree to part ways with Stephen.”

A bitter taste on your tongue you get up, toss the napkin onto the table before you turn to leave your father’s dining room.

“Love means to not give up on a person only as he’s in a bad place, father. I will not leave Stephen even if he will never come back. I meant what I said,” taking your coat you do not turn around to not show your father your tears. “I loved him, always will, even if it’s unrequited.”

Stephen takes a deep breath watching you through one of the portals he learned to create.

He never took the time to get to know you, never saw the love burning in your heart but now, his mind and heart are wide open when he recalls all the nights you waited for him, eyes red-rimmed as you cried yourself to sleep.

“No, I haven’t heard of Stephen in months, Christine. Can we just not,” sniffling you wipe your eyes, “talk about him now? Dad wanted me to divorce my husband. I drown in debts and I can barely concentrate at work. I am close to losing my job too.”

“Y/N,” a deep voice calls your name and you drop your phone taking a step backward. “It’s me, Stephen.”

“Were you at a costume party? Is it Halloween, no…it’s too early,” blinking a few times you drink your husband's outfit in. He is wearing an odd necklace which looks like an eye. A red cape frames his body and you wonder since when Stephen wears such ‘eccentric’ clothes.

“I found the place I was looking for, Y/N,” his voice softer than you remember Stephen steps closer and you take another step backward. “All the wonders I have seen, felt, and experienced, my love.”

“Okay, Stephen,” stammering you look for your phone, fearing your husband lost his mind. “I get you were at a strange place with odd people but running around like a,” not finding a word for the costume he wears you point toward the cape.

“Magician, a master to be correct,” Stephen smiles, he really smiles, and your stomach drops, believing he got drugged. “Look,” the cape leaves his body and you suddenly feel dizzy when the fabric wraps around your body to push you into your husband’s arms.

“I am dreaming,” falling against Stephen’s chest you lose consciousness. “You’re not here.”

“My love, how do you feel?” Stephen whispers while his cape drapes around your body.

“Stephen, what is that thing?” scared you press your body to Stephen’s chest, shaking like a leaf. “Where were you and what’s going on?”

“It’s a long story, but don’t be afraid my love, he’ll not hurt you,” his hands gently cup your face and you wonder what Stephen is up to when his lips silence your mind. His tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth and you whimper silently.

“Where have you been?” He is picking you up, ignoring your question. Heart racing, mind clouded you let him carefully place you onto your shared bed.

Just now your eyes land on his hands, his healed hands. “Your hands,” gasping you watch Stephen run his hands over your arms, caressing the skin with his fingertips.

“So beautiful and warm, soft and pure,” his voice lulls you into a cloud of warmth and you close your eyes, just feeling his lips touch your neck. “Can you forgive me for not seeing. For being blind for too long?”

His hands carefully open your dressing gown and you gasp, feeling his erection prominent against your thigh. Lips travel down your collarbone and you cry out when Stephen suckles one nipple into his mouth.

Sex was always like a duty to Stephen. Clean, fast, and without any passion but the man working his way down your body to press a chaste kiss to your mound could be a stranger.

“Let me take this off,” voice thick with lust now he slides your panties down your legs, groaning as your heat is at full display. “Did I ever tell you that your aura is overwhelming?”

“Aura,” gasping you watch him strip his clothes off in a hurry. Your eyes roam his body and you wonder how his hands can grip your thighs.

Months ago, he could barely hold a fork and now he spreads your legs, holds you open to settle between your thighs.

“It’s like looking at a rainbow or something indescribable to watch you open up for me,” shuddering under Stephen’s gaze you reach out to touch him. His breathing quickens when you wrap your hand around his length to stroke him slowly.

There is something in your husband’s eyes you never saw before – adoration, love even. He is pressing his lips to yours, as you let go of his length to slide your fingers through his hair.

“Stephen,” a broken moan leaves your lips feeling the tip slip in. Your hands grasp for anything to hold on tight when he slowly sinks into your heat. “I’ve missed you.”

“How could you miss me, the cold-hearted man ignoring you too long,” whimpering you wrap your legs around Stephen’s waist, not answering his question as the first thrust takes your breath away. “I wish that I was a better man.”

Between kisses, soft touches, and whispered words Stephen takes his time. His hips roll deliberate against yours, letting you feel his twitching length with every thrust. “Cum for be beautiful.”

“I…I can’t,” crying out you grip his shoulders, not liking the cape floats close to the bed. “He’s looking at us.”

“OUT!” Stephen yells and the cape leaves the room. “Now back to you, Y/N.”

Lips nibbling along your neck your husband hums against you with every long stroke. “Now cum for me.”

A tiny whimper leaves your lips, followed by a scream of his name when you fall, hard. Your blunt nails bite into his back feeling his warmth fill you. Another new development. Usually, Stephen used a condom, but not this time.

“You know, now I gotta pee thanks to you,” laughing at your words Stephen looks down at you, a smirk on his lips. “Doctors advice, baby.”

“You mean magic exists, just like different realities. That cape is magical and,” humming you close your eyes to process everything Stephen told you. “Now you are the protector of New York?”

“Something like that, Y/N. Do you want to meet Wong?” Humming you rest your head onto Stephen’s chest, wondering if the new man by your side will change again.

“I am not only thankful that being a master opened my mind and healed my body. It also made me see I was an awful husband and human being,” Stephen kisses your hair, smiling as you sleep peacefully. “It’s strange, the feeling of loving you but I kinda like it…”

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mrsteveecook · 6 years

Text

former coworkers crashed my networking party, using a fake voice in an interview, and more

It’s five answers to five questions. Here we go…

1. My former coworkers crashed my networking party

I can’t believe I am asking this, but is it okay to crash a networking event if you’re friendly with the host? After the first day of a large conference (1,000+ people) put on by a former employer, I held a small networking reception with a hosted bar for my largest client and was in charge of all details, including the guest list. We had physical invitations and people were greeted at the door where the invites were exchanged for drink tickets.

Three of my former colleagues arrived uninvited, and I let them in anyway, because I didn’t want to be rude and the vibe of the event was casual enough that it wouldn’t matter too much. When I went to make the rounds later though, I saw they had brought in four more uninvited guests from my former company who I had never met, had taken over a central part of the venue, and were loudly talking and drinking among themselves and ignoring the rest of the guests. I admit, I reacted with shock at the time and asked what they thought they were doing and said to the people I knew that they were taking advantage of our friendship. They just laughed and said they were fine so I walked away. The next day at the conference, one of them told my employee that they were upset and that I owed them an apology!

For some added context, they knew they weren’t invited and had borderline bullied one of my employees all day about getting an invite. I just set up my own consulting company, and this event was the first one I held for this client. The people who crashed are in very low-level, but visible positions in my industry and I will have to engage with them repeatedly over the years. So, do I owe them an apology? Or do I give one anyway to keep the peace? What I want to do is call their director (my old boss) so he can let them know it isn’t cool for half his department to crash my event simply because I used to work there. But maybe I’m in the wrong and should apologize?

Is it possible they didn’t realize the event was truly invitation-only? It’s common for receptions like that to be open to whoever shows up. The fact that they were angling for an invitation earlier that days makes that unlikely, but they still may have assumed it wouldn’t be a big deal since you knew them, it was for networking, etc. Plus, once they showed up and you let them in, that probably reinforced their thinking that it wasn’t a big deal.

They were rude, but I think you’ve just got to figure that if you really wanted the event to be rigidly invitation-only, you needed to turn them away — or at least to explicitly tell them that you couldn’t permit any additional uninvited guests. Once they and their four additional guests were already in there, you probably would have been better off letting it go — or, if you really found it unacceptable, to ask them to leave. It sounds like your outrage may have made it into a bigger deal than it needed to be.

I would not call your old director about this; that’s going to add to the drama and prolong it. If you have a professional need to have good relationships with the crashers, then yeah, I think you probably do need to at least attempt to smooth it over with them. That doesn’t necessarily mean apologizing, but it might help to at least say, “I realize I sent you mixed messages about the event — I had intended it to be invitation-only and primarily for my client, and I should have been clearer about that rather than getting frustrated when you brought in additional people.”

2. Should I use a fake voice during an interview?

I work in corporate training and instructional design. Over the past few months, job descriptions in my field have increasingly mentioned that the job includes recording videos and voice-overs for training materials.

I don’t mind doing this, but frankly my reedy baby voice is unpleasant. I have done some community theater over the years, so I have experience smoothing and lowering my voice, but it takes concentration, and I couldn’t sustain it permanently. Doing it long enough to record a video would be no problem.

Would it be wrong to interview for this sort of job in my “theater voice”? I could be setting myself up for a comedy of errors if I get the job and show up speaking differently, but I don’t want to be passed over for jobs because they are imagining my mousy squeaking on their videos. I also can’t visualize a way to demonstrate multiple voices in an interview without coming off as unhinged.

(The “theater voice” isn’t comically different, but the difference is noticeable. It’s lower pitched, and more gravelly/less breathy. Friends have joked that my performing voice sounds like me after 20 years of whiskey and cigarettes.)

I don’t think it would be wrong to interview using your theater voice. Lots of people have a more formal voice or a “professional persona” voice. It’s still your voice, just a different version of it. And I doubt anyone is going to be that weirded out by it when you don’t use that voice during normal to day to work. They may not even remember it was different in the interview, and if they do … well, they’ll assume you put a different energy into your voice when you’re trying to make the sort of impression one tries to make in an interview. (That said, my own voice has like three different versions depending on my level of formality and whatever my energy happens to be, so I tend to just not think it’s that weird.)

3. Halloween Christmas card

The photo for our annual Christmas card is being taken on Halloween, prior to our office Halloween potluck, while people will be in costumes! (We are an oncology software company, and our recipients include hospitals, clinicians, and universities.) Ugh. I feel that this is unprofessional, tacky, and weird — I don’t understand why we would use a clearly dated photo for our Christmas card. How, if at all, do I raise this concern to our higher-ups?

If you want to raise it, you can be direct about it: “I think it will look really out of place for the season if we send a Christmas card where people are obviously in Halloween costumes. What about taking the photo next week instead?”

But I wouldn’t worry terribly much about it. It’ll be a weird Christmas card! That’s okay.

4. Callers keep getting my name wrong

My name is Christina and I work a receptionist job and I get a lot of calls daily. Sometimes when speaking to callers, they decide to call me “Chris” instead of Christina. I have an extreme dislike for being called Chris, I don’t even allow close friends or family to call me by that name. It doesn’t seem to be helped by the fact that there are many others at work who do go by Chris.

I’ve tried overly pronouncing my name but it doesn’t always work. Is there a way I could politely tell callers that my name is Christina and not Chris? Or is this just something I need to learn to accept?

If it’s a caller you’re going to speak to regularly: “Oh, it’s Christina, not Chris.” Don’t make a big thing of it — just a matter-of-fact correction and continue on with whatever’s being discussed. And if they repeatedly get it wrong after that and it’s bugging you: “Just so you’re getting my name right — it’s Christina.” After that, you have to decide how much you care — but you want to err on the side of not being this person.

If it’s a caller you’re not likely to speak to again, I would let it go. They’re only going to be in your life for a couple of minutes, and you’ll probably be happier if you decide not to care rather than try to correct it every time.

I know there are people who come down very strongly on the side of “your name is your name and you should never accept being called anything else” … and I agree with that when it’s family, friends, or people you interact with daily, but at work sometimes the path of least resistance is the happier one.

5. How can I prove I was employed at a company that’s been sold or closed?

For many years following college, I worked as a newspaper reporter for a company in Pennsylvania (1994-1999). I left the company in 1999 when I moved south. It was five years of employment experience where I won a few awards and gained good professional experience. The company was sold, sold again, and is now owned by another company. The office I worked at is closed. At least I think it is. When I googled it, it looks like it’s used for storage or printing or something like that. My supervisor died a few years ago.

How can this experience (which I consider valuable) be confirmed on my resume? I have many many clippings of news stories I wrote during this time. But other than that, I don’t know how to confirm I worked for a company that doesn’t exist anymore at an office that doesn’t exist anymore for a person who died, Eddy. There were many others who worked in the office. But I reported directly to Eddy.

Also following that job, I was the marketing director for a company for eight years (from 2001-2009) which has been sold, sold again, and is now a completely different company. How can future employers verify my employment? I’m not even sure how to go about doing it other than show samples of my work from that time period.

Most employers actually aren’t going to be that interested in verifying employment from 1999. If they want to, you have published clippings you can use, but it’s very unlikely it’ll even come up as something they want to check into.

They may not care about verifying the 2001-2009 job either, but if they do, you can explain the situation and offer to put them in touch with former colleagues who worked there. (If you haven’t kept in touch with anyone from that job, try tracking them down on LinkedIn.)

This is a thing that happens! It’s unlikely to be an issue, assuming you have more recent work history and more recent references.